False Reality
by Maranwe Elanor
Summary: Tis inside it wouldn't fit in this little space so you'll have to look to find out. Won't take long and you have nothing to lose Go for it! Please? You may like it. complete
1. Quiet Time in Rivendell

**Title:** **False Reality**

**Author: Maranwe**

**Summary: **A new threat walks the lands of Middle-earth, terrorizing the free peoples and haunting the Wilds and the Ettenmoors. Companies and caravans have been attacked, many of the people wiped out. Few have escaped the wrath of these mysterious attackers. News have come to the Rangers--specifically, Aragorn. 

Now, the young Dúnadan plans to find this threat and eliminate it. When he meets someone on the slopes of the Misty Mountains, he must decide if he can trust her. What will happen if he's wrong? What if this threat is not so new as everyone thought? And what if this is only the beginning? 

**Disclaimer:** Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir, etc., recognizable from the books written by the narrative genius of J. R. R. Tolkien obviously belong to him. References to events from the Mellon Chronicles series by Cassia and Siobhan belong to them and are used with their gracious permission. I don't own any of the above, nor do I think I do, thus this paragraph, so don't sue. The ones I do own, you won't recognize. For better or worse, the plot is also mine. 

**Rating:** PG-13. (If I'm wrong, do tell, but I don't think I do anything _that_ bad to them.) 

**Spoilers:** Um, a couple for the Mellon Chronicles stories; First Meeting, Priceless Treasure, Return, I think. Actually, if you want to be on the safe side and understand the references, you should just read all of them. If you haven't already, 'tis your loss. 

**Feedback:** Mmhm. Always good to know if anybody actually reads what took so very long to write. Constructive criticism is welcome. Reviews that say "It sucked" will be stared at blankly then fed to my rottwieller. 

Leave a review (preferred) or e-mail (welcome) me at yamoriami@yahoo.com. 

**Note:** To make my life easier, Gilrean has been dead for a long time. Elrond is pretty much Aragorn's father with Elladan and Elrohir being his brothers--my take on Tolkien's history presentation of the child being "raised in the house of Elrond." You've been informed. 

Also, my elvish is just that. I have yet to find an elvish dictionary that satisfies my desire for precision and easy accessibility, and until I do my insertions will forgo accuracy in favor of effect. As such, many of the words lack accents or whatever you call those dots, etc. I don't have the patience to go back and put them in after wrestling with this for so long, don't always know where they go, don't know how to put them in, among other problems. I'll fix what doesn't seem hard. So, please forgive my laziness in this regard. 

**Additional Note:** I'll be posting about once a week. Seems like a long time? Review and tell me. I can be persuaded to post sooner, I just don't think anyone will read this, so why not take my time? *glances around slowly* So, like I said; if you don't agree, tell me, and if enough of you speak up, I'll up my posting schedule. 

This is the one and only time I am going to go through this spiel. Remember it. Now. 

Read, enjoy, and be heard. (i.e. Review!) 

P.S. If you don't like the first chapter, hang on for the second If you don't like that one either, you likely won't like the rest of the story. If you're not sure, stay on and see where it takes you. You might just be surprised. *g* 

P. P. S. This hasn't been beta'd. That means all mistakes are mine. *winces* If this chapter is anything like the ones I had my brother review, there will likely be quite a few, but I tried to go back and fix them. Any spelling errors are the fault of a bad spell-checker because I did run this through spell-check. Now that I'm pretty sure I covered everything. . . . On with the story! 

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**Chapter 1**

**Quiet Time in Rivendell**

The sun shone high above the valley that held Imladris in its midst. Fall was fast approaching and the temperature was dropping, the leaves preparing for their descent to cover to the ground in a soft bed. Most of the flowers now littered the walkways creating a brilliant tapestry to walk through. Birds sang quietly, their melodic notes floating through the air and mixing with the occasional song sung by an Elf who was wandering among the trees. However, elves weren't the only residents of Imladris, and one of those residents found himself looking over the side of the Stone Bridge over the Bruinen up from the falls. 

The young man gazed into the ever flowing depths beneath him and wondered what life would be like if the river just stopped. He had heard people compare rivers to life and he was in something of a philosophical mood. Sometimes he felt he was being swept along on a path he could not control, moving at a speed much faster than he would have wished, and other times seemed to crawl until he wished for something to happen to speed it up. He was swept into situations he could swear were way beyond him, and swept into obstacles or taken around dangers--albeit not very often--as if on a whim from something he did not understand. The Valar, he supposed. But how were such decisions made? He decided he would probably never know. 

He glanced up as a group of elves passed across the bridge, smiling at him warmly as they did so. He returned the smile before moving back to gaze at the water. Answers he sought seemed to swirl in the fast moving depths before being pulled away by the current and flushed over the side, out of reach. He let them go. He had enough to trouble over without adding to it by clinging to questions he would not be able to answer just yet. They would wait. 

Tired of the view, he passed over the bridge heading for his father's house--his adopted father's house. Lord Elrond had taken the young human into his home years ago with the passing of his parents into the Halls of Mandos because of the weight of his heritage for he was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir to the throne of Gondor. It was a burden he did not feel capable of bearing, and a power he did not want, a responsibility he did not want. He followed the path towards the house, then veered aside at the top of the small set of stairs leading to the level of the plain. Near the edge of the valley wall he could see the stables and forge in the distance. They blended in quite well with their surroundings, balancing the necessary while still respecting nature; quite beautiful, in Aragorn's opinion. 

He walked on, heading for the small forest of trees to the northeast of the elven Lord's home. His thoughts turned lazily as if stirred by a warm breeze, content to malinger on matters of little importance and swirl past onto others of more importance or less with no concern, taking his time and enjoying the peace. 

The young Ranger smiled slightly as he heard the sound of more elves moving amongst the trees. He thought he recognized their voices and was not disappointed when, a few minutes later, two identical elves appeared from the covering foliage. 

Elladan and Elrohir smiled at the human who appeared before them. "Enjoying the trees, Estel?" Elladan asked. 

"Yes," he told his brother. 

Elrohir frowned at him. "Your eyes look far away," he commented. "What are you looking at?" 

That dragged a smile out of the young man. He was well used to elven perception after having lived with it for so long, and it no longer disturbed him when someone would walk up to him and inquire into the very depths of his thoughts that he believed well hidden, sometimes even from himself. "Thinking about everything and nothing, just enjoying the peace. It seems to slip away more every year." 

A shadow passed over the twin's fair features, gone before the human could identify it. "Yes, evil is stirring again. It grows stronger all the time," Elladan agreed. Aragorn watched the two with serious dark eyes. He had suspected as much but had not had much time to dwell on it. Many events had conspired to keep him occupied. 

"Moving closer to Imladris?" he asked when neither continued. 

A slight frown worked its way across the twin faces, though both stayed silent, their eyes going unfocused and distant. A matching frown pulled at the corner of his mouth as he wondered what troubled his brothers so much. "Nay, not yet," Elrohir finally spoke. "Not yet, but soon, I think. Evil always seeks to smother light. It may not be long, or it may be awhile yet." 

A smile quirked the Ranger's lips. It was just like the elves to cover all areas, both acknowledging and denying. He remembered well the admonition not to go to the elves for counsel as they would tell you both no and yes. He shook his head as he continued on his way. 

Elladan saw the smile. "What's so funny, Estel?" he demanded, raising an eyebrow imperiously. 

The young man laughed. "You wouldn't understand," he evaded, knowing such an answer would bother the two brothers terribly. He had known them long enough to know they would never let such an answer stand. He waited. 

And was not disappointed. "Wouldn't understand what?" Elrohir demanded. "We understand plenty about humans." The elf was glaring at him fiercely, the look only betrayed by the slight sparkle of humor in his eyes. The younger twin had always enjoyed teasing his human brother. Aragorn had always had a quick mind. 

"Nay, I would not trouble you so with needless information concerning us pathetic men. We are far beneath the notice of such noble and impressive beings such as yourselves," Aragorn informed the elves demurely, his tone as serious as he could make it while speaking thusly. 

Elladan and Elrohir laughed. "The generosity of men is clearly underrated, young one. You, indeed, have a silver tongue." 

"But I would have gold," he countered, generating more laughter from the two elves. 

"You are too much, Estel!" Elladan declared, wiping at his eyes. "We know you better than that!" Aragorn laughed also. "But come, what troubles you so to seek the shelter of the trees?" 

Aragorn sighed, sobering immediately. He had not really given the matter much thought, and had simply wandered here for a change of scenery. He supposed, however, that somewhere deep inside, he had come here, even unknowingly, for peace. He had always found the quiet stillness of the trees of Imladris soothing. Even now, much of his anxiety, even that which he had not been aware of, was flowing away. He closed his eyes before returning his attention to the pair that watched him closely. "I suppose I am troubled, and sought the serenity that is so easy to find here, in the quiet." 

"What troubles you?" Elrohir asked quietly. 

He did not answer immediately, but he knew. He knew without a shadow of doubt that what was troubling him now was the same thing that had been troubling since he had come to know of his heritage, his true heritage, though the thoughts took different form. Finally he said, "I worry about the future, Elrohir. What if I am not good enough? Not strong enough?" He glanced at the two beside him with cloudy eyes. "What if the weakness of my ancestors proves too great, and my folly brings destruction to Middle-earth?" 

Elladan placed his hand on the human's shoulder, hoping to comfort him. "You do not give yourself enough credit, my brother. Have a little faith in yourself, in your strength." A slight smile tugged at his lips. "However, I know well the stubborn ways of men, and you will just have to wait for the time when you can prove this to yourself. The time will come. You do not need to seek it." 

"Live, brother," Elrohir seconded. "Just live, and you will see the day when you can look back on this day and wonder that you ever had cause to worry." 

A sad smile tugged at the heir's lips. "I doubt it, Elrohir, but your confidence eases my heart. I would that the words prove true, for I could not bear the consequences if I should fail." 

Silence followed, but the two elves knew by now that nothing they could say would convince nor comfort the young man any more than he was comforted now. Instead of trying, Elladan offered, "Enjoy the trees, Estel, and try not to brood too hard. Father would frown terribly if he knew about this." 

"Yes," Elrohir agreed mischievously, "but if you agree to turn your thoughts to lighter matters, we will refrain from mentioning this incident to him." 

Aragorn laughed, his heart lightening at his brothers's words. "Indeed you are gracious. I would not wish to bring Lord Elrond's displeasure down upon my head! It would be a grievous blow indeed." He smiled. "Fear not, my friends, I will not dwell upon this long, but I fear I cannot stay here much longer. My heart longs to stay but also to go, and the latter is winning as the shadows grow. I cannot stay here when others may have need of me." 

"We understand," Elladan offered with a smile. "But come back for dinner. Father would have you here this night, at least. You've been gone a long time, and we have missed you." 

"I'll return shortly. Thank you." 

The two smiled and made their way easily through the trees, heading back the way Aragorn had come. The Ranger watched them sadly, knowing that his brothers hated to see the pain in his eyes whenever he considered his heritage. It was a dark path he walked, destined to get darker. He was not sure it was a path he could walk without falling into darkness himself. For the sake of Middle-earth, though, he hoped the faith of his friends were not in vain. So much rested on his shoulders. Too much. 

Frowning, he started walking again. He would hold true to his word and leave this vein of thought behind, turning his mind instead to other, lighter matters. His thoughts turned briefly to Arwen, but the beautiful maiden was also beyond his reach, and for all the joy she brought him, thinking of her and knowing it would be years yet before he could gain his hearts desire brought him only more pain. Smiling wryly, and positive there had to be _some_ matter that did not bode evil thoughts, he started singing softly in elvish, a light tune full of the joy of the woods and the stars and rivers. Nature, at least, was not evil, and he contented his heart with thoughts of the beauty surrounding Middle-earth that had not yet been touched by despair and suffered his thoughts to stray no further than the moment, which was beautiful and full of peace. 

It would not be long, he knew, before this peace would be far behind him and he would be longing for another moment like this that was not to be had. 

A smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he took in the scene he had walked in on. Most of the night's occupants were already present and accounted for, but few of them were seated. Elladan and Elrohir were rolling on the floor, wrestling, though he could not tell what they were trying for. A group of other elves, whose names did not immediately come to mind, were tossing what looked like an apple back and forth. Even as he watched, a blonde haired elf from the group leaned too far back and crashed to the floor. Glorfindel seemed to be having a rather heated argument with Tirian, both standing close together, eyes blazing. 

At the head of the table sat Lord Elrond, expression indescribable but trying for a neutral he was not quite managing, calmly eating his meal. One of the servants walked up and refilled his glass of wine. The elf lord took a drink almost immediately, his gaze finally resting on the human standing just inside the open doorway, watching the proceedings with amusement. He raised an eyebrow. 

Aragorn shook his head and stepped further into the room, trying not to draw the attention of the rest of the room's occupants. This un-elf-like show was too amusing to bring to a halt so soon. Indicating how distracted the group was, the Ranger made it to his adopted father's side without interrupting the events. 

"What's going on?" he murmured, taking a seat next to the elder elf. 

Elrond took another sip of wine, his gaze surveying the chaos around him. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted finally, as regal as ever. "This started. . . . Actually, I have no idea how it started, but I think it may have involved Elladan. It's been nearly twenty minutes and all have yet to come up for breath." The wine glass made another trip to the Elf Lord's mouth and Aragorn thought he detected a twitch as the fair being fought a smile. "Perhaps we will learn more soon." 

Aragorn smiled and picked up his utensils as a plate was placed before him by one of the servants. Absently, he nodded his thanks, his eyes still focused on the mayhem before him, which, to all appearances, only seemed to be increasing. 

Celebrim, an elder elf of much the same stature of Glorfindel, entered and was promptly pegged in the head with a flying apple. Laughter erupted around him and the one who was responsible turned red and tried to hide. Celebrim smiled slowly. "Perhaps I missed the message announcing this meal to be one of unusual circumstances which would allow manners to be put aside." 

This grabbed the attention of all the rough-housers in the hall, and silence fell. The apple throwers glanced quickly at each other. "Yes. That was it." 

"Good," Celebrim declared, bending down to retrieve the apple. He studied it intently for a moment and the others watched him surreptitiously. He began walking to his seat and Tirian turned his attention back to Glorfindel. A smile crossed the elf's face and he cocked the apple and let fly. 

The object hit the other on the back of his head, and Tirian turned to the other with a glower. He said nothing, simply approached the table at which Aragorn and Elrond sat observing these events. His hand touched upon an object he could not see. "Good evening, Celebrim. I was hoping we'd have the chance to talk." A pleasant smile touched his lips and Celebrim shifted slightly. 

"Of course." 

A glob of something suddenly shot through the air, sailing for Celebrim's upturned face. The elf dodged at the last minute and the projectile smacked into yet another elf, who blinked at the silence he was presented with. Aragorn covered his mouth with his hand, desperately trying to stem the hysterical laughter that wished to pour forth at the childish display being put forth by millennia old elves. He had never seen anything like it before in his life. 

Before long, an all out food fight had begun among the assembled elves with the two seated at the table calmly dodging anything that came their way--mostly. A bit of pie landed in Aragorn's lap and he brushed it off quietly, still watching the proceedings carefully. Elladan and Elrohir were right in the middle of this one, flinging most of the food between the two of them. 

Eventually, the rest of the elves realized it would be wise to gang up on the brothers instead of fighting among themselves and began concentrating their fire on the twins. An untouched pie was picked up by Glorfindel, and Aragorn watched as it sailed through the air and stuck Elladan square in the face. The shock froze Elrohir and another one caught him openmouthed. 

This was too much. Long pent up laughter finally erupted from Aragorn at the state of his brothers's dress: dis-shelved, rumpled, filthy. One could hardly recognize them for High Elves. It mattered little to him that the only sound in the great hall was the sound of his laughter, especially as he could not stop. He slowly slid down in his seat as his laughter stole his air away and made his head feel light. He gasped trying to gain more air, only to dissolve into laughter once again by glancing at Elladan and Elrohir, who had cleared some of the cream away from their eyes so they could see. 

Beside him, Elrond was trying to maintain a straight, stern face--trying and failing. "Now that most of the food is on the floor, walls, or ceiling, would any of you care to sit down and actually _eat_ it?" 

The wry question prompted a snort of laughter from the human and he slid to the ground, helpless in the face of his amusement. 

"I suppose you think this is funny?" Elladan inquired imperiously, raising an eyebrow at the human sprawled on the floor. Secretly, he was pleased to see the young man laughing. It had been too long since he had truly let go and enjoyed himself. His only wish was that the event had truly been planned so he could take the credit. 

The Ranger shook his head, laughter stealing any words he might have said, though at the moment his mind was not really capable of forming the thoughts in the first place. 

Elrond smiled at the human. "Estel? Perhaps you'd care to re-seat yourself and join us, as we are going to be finishing our diner in a calm and respectable manner." 

The others watched, bemused, as the young man struggled to pull himself up into his chair in spite of his giggles and the limited control he had over his own limbs, made weak by his mirth. Taking pity on the young one, Glorfindel stepped forward and offered his assistance, finally maneuvering the young one to his seat. By this time, the rest of the elves were seated and more food was brought out. 

"I trust this will not end up on the floor as well," Elrond admonished, nearly laughing himself as the human's laughter increased in intensity. It was a good thing Aragorn had already eaten. It was likely to be a feat he would be unable to accomplish for quite some time. The young man leaned forward and buried his head in his arms and attempted to breath deeply--which only succeeded in making him snort and sent him into fresh gales of laughter. Elrond gestured for the rest of the company to begin eating. 

Several minutes later, the laughter seemed to be coming to an end. Aragorn sat up and wiped at his eyes, a wide smile still graced his features, making him look younger and less troubled than he had in years. The Ranger could not remember the last time he had laughed so much, though he thought it might have been at least thirty years. He had a suspicion that it would have been one of the last times he, Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir were together with some down time to make mischief at either his home or Legolas'. Those had been the days, even if many of them were spent in Rivendell recovering from one injury or another. His smile widened. 

"What are you thinking about, Estel?" Elladan wanted to know. 

Aragorn glanced up, and smirked. "I was just thinking about the old days." 

The twins glanced at each other. "Those days would be beyond your reckoning, human," Elrohir goaded. Scattered snickers answered this. 

"You would have me be more specific, then?" the Ranger inquired, raising an eyebrow at his adopted brother. 

"Do, please," Elrond spoke up before either could answer. "It should prove interesting, and as tonight has proven a hindrance to serious discussion, we might as well continue the trend." 

"All right," Aragorn said as he leaned back and crossed his ankles under the table. "I was thinking back to a time when things were not so calm around here." He glanced at the twins to gauge their reactions. Both were staring at him somewhat warily. They recognized something in his expression, apparently. "Though the specific incident I was thinking of involved me, Legolas, and four horses near Mirkwood." 

"When was this?" Glorfindel asked. 

A shadow briefly crossed Aragorn's face as he remembered what had come after that . . . the pain, the cold, the dark memories of hallucinations. He smiled wanly, trying not to lose the good cheer he was enjoying in the company of old friends. He swallowed thickly. "A while ago. It doesn't bear remembering." His terse tone apparently alerted the twins, for shadowed recognition also crossed their faces. "Also, the time when Elladan and Elrohir followed Legolas and I to the falls in the middle of the night and fell in--" 

"We did not fall in!" Elladan declared hotly. 

"We were pushed!" Elrohir seconded. 

Aragorn smirked, not bothering to deny that accusation. "Well if you had been watching what you were doing, we wouldn't have been able to come up behind you in the first place." 

"If you didn't have such a hopeless reputation with waterfalls, we needn't have gotten so close," Elladan retorted, his eyes glinting playfully, the other elves thoroughly enjoying this thread of conversation. 

"How is it my fault you couldn't keep your balance?" the Ranger demanded incredulously. 

"It's your fault because you pushed us," cried Elrohir. 

"I did not push the both of you." 

"So you admit it!" exclaimed Elladan. 

"I admit nothing," Aragorn declaimed, looking slightly offended. "I simply could not have possibly pushed both of you." 

Elrohir looked at his twin. "He has a point," he pointed out. "Which means, of course, that he had help. Legolas obviously sided with our young brother." 

"And both will need to be thanked for their participation," Elladan agreed, a somewhat wicked smile crossing his face. 

A look Elrond recognized immediately after years of experience. "Your gratitude will be expressed in a painless matter. I will not have you return them to me to be patched back up. Again." He leveled the twins with a stern glare. 

"Of course, Father," Elladan agreed easily. "We would never injure our little brother." 

"Sure," Aragorn agreed. "Never. What about that time when you dared me to climb the dark oak?" 

"That wasn't our fault!" Elladan denied quickly. 

"Or the riding accident when I was eighteen when you spooked Aromir." 

Elrohir and Elladan glanced at each other. "There was no way we could have known that would happen." 

"Then there was that training incident with the--" Elrohir cleared his throat in warning. Aragorn shut his mouth quickly, realizing immediately what he had been about to tell. They had agreed the Lord of Rivendell would never learn of that incident, and he had nearly blown it. "--platform that collapsed," he continued as if nothing had happened, the revised story coming nearly seamlessly on the heels of the prior one. 

"What platform?" Celebrim inquired. 

The twins exchanged glances. "Um, the one that used to pass into the river," Elrohir answered quietly. 

A sharp glance was thrown at him by Elrond. "What were any of you doing near that platform?" 

Neither twin spoke up, and the elf lord's glare was turned on Aragorn. The young man shifted slightly. "Well . . . Elladan said that when he and Elrohir were younger, they used to play on the platform all the time, but that it had become unstable over the years and no one had bothered to fix it. Then Elrohir bet that he could still walk on it, and Elladan said he couldn't. Predictably, this led to the three of us being near the river with Elrohir on the platform. Then Elrohir charged that Elladan couldn't do it, so Elladan got up on the platform. . . . Neither thought I could do it, and I was eager to show them wrong. They didn't want me to do it, as they felt it was too wobbly and weak, but I wouldn't back down, so I climbed up. Everything was fine, at first. Then something happened, exactly what I don't know, but the platform trembled and threw me off balance, which threw the platform off balance and sent us both crashing into the river." 

Elladan took over the story then. "Estel hit his head on the way down, and we had to hurry into the river to drag him out before he could drown. He never lost consciousness, but he couldn't swim very well, either. No real harm came of it, Father," he assured the elder Elf. "He was fine after a few minutes. Really." 

Elrond glanced between the three he called his sons. There was really nothing he could say to that, since he had not even known of its occurrence at the time, and all three boys stood before him, well by all accounts. He was, however, interested in whatever Aragorn had been going to tell in the first place. He did not think he would learn of it just now, though. Finally, he spoke. "I trust nothing so foolish will occur again." 

"Of course, Father," Elladan agreed, actually sounding serious. "Besides, Estel has more sense now." 

"We hope," Elrohir muttered. 

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. "I heard that," he growled. Elrohir smiled sweetly. 

"Peace, all of you," Lord Elrond interrupted before another argument could erupt. "Finish your dinner. There are other matters that must be seen to tonight." 

Aragorn laughed quietly. He took another sip of his wine, glad he had stayed this night. Whatever else happened, he was pleased to have the memory of this night to take with him. He stood. "With your permission, my lord," he began formally, "I would retire. I plan on leaving early tomorrow morning, and would like to be well rested for my journey." 

Elrond nodded. "Good night, Estel." 

"Good night, Ada," he murmured back, as he passed the elder elf. If nothing else ever came of his heritage, he was glad it had brought him to the house of Elrond. He could not have asked for a better family. He was packed and asleep not long after he made it to his rooms, tired in spite of himself, as the peace of his home worked its magic and he fell into a deep and dreamless slumber that healed both his body and his mind. 

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There it is. Hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to review if you've made it this far. No reason to waste it since you're here, after all. *hopeful grin* 


	2. Stumble in the Dark

Ah, this one's been ready for a week and nobody wanted to have it sooner. A shame, a shame. I'll just have to take it out on Aragorn and Legolas in the next story I'm working on. Ai, they may wish for death before the end. . . . 

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**Sphinx:** I'm glad you liked Elrond. My story's not a total flop if someone likes something. Yay! There's more angst later. . . . Thanks for reading and letting me know what you think. I would write anyway, but it's so much more fun when other people can enjoy it, too.****

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**Karri:** Hm. 'She' doesn't quite come into the picture, truly into the picture just yet, but if you can hang on, I'd love to know what you think of her. I'm afraid she might be Mary-Sue-ish, but I hope not; that's not what I intended. And I'm not too fond of the 'she's' either, but . . . The bunny bit and there was no way around it.If it makes any difference, I can assure you now that there's no romance. *chuckles* No, no romance, just. . . . But that would be telling. Hehe. 

Well, here's the next chapter.****

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**Chapter 2**

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**Stumble in the Dark**

True to word and form, Aragorn was indeed up and gone early in the morning. He had bid good-bye to his family yet again and was grateful that they were elves because that meant he did not have to wake them up or leave without word in order to depart so early. Elves were almost always up with the crack of dawn. 

He took the road leading out of the valley at a brisk jog, following it west until he left the confines of the valley which housed and protected Rivendell. Once away, he left the road and headed north, various trees providing sparse protection as he moved easily through them. The ground was soft and mostly covered with green grass, which he crossed lightly, or as lightly as a man was able. He made good time and was nearing the mountains, as evidenced by the changing soil beneath his feet, when he stopped for lunch. 

The Ranger sat quietly on a fair sized boulder that decorated the ground where he had stopped, munching on a small meal of bread and cheese. He was not staying long enough to wish to take the time to start a fire and cook any meat. His keen gaze swept the quiet countryside around him, searching for any signs of another presence or anything amiss. He found nothing and only the quiet sounds of nature reached his ears. A bird singing nearby caught his attention, and he settled back to listen to the creature's fair song as he took a sip of water and finished his meal. He could afford to sit for a moment before moving on. 

He smiled slightly in memory of events long passed, wishing such carefree days remained to enjoy, especially the days when he and Legolas had been free to wander from one home to the other, even if it meant one horrible chance meeting after another that landed them yet another injury that needed to be recuperated from. He missed the days when he could travel with his friend, but those times seemed to be passing quickly. 

The demands on the Rangers had been growing of late and more often than not he found himself called away from home into the Wild or around the Shire, which the Dúnedain defended from the North, or off in the east near Gondor. In fact, it was from scouting near Gondor that he had just returned from, having been called to return and look into rumors of deadly beasts wondering the lands west of the Misty Mountains, which was where he was headed. Precisely what wandered the mostly empty lands, no one could say, but few had returned who had met them and none of the survivors could paint a clear picture. Some said wolves, some said men--or more often feral elves, as many men feared the fair beings--some said a mixture of the two as if the beast that had attacked was neither one nor the other but both combined into a strange form. 

In any case, Aragorn was here to find out the answer. He had heard the reports and hoped to explore the area and determine if he could find any trace of the being's whereabouts that could illuminate the mystery and put an end to some of the fear and danger in the Wild. 

Arnaur had offered to come with him, but the human had refused. He had great respect for the skills of his fellow Dúnedain, but if this creature was truly as dangerous as the few survivors claimed it to be, then he had no desire to lead anyone under his protection into danger. That through traveling alone he had placed himself in dire danger if the threat proved true was not lost on the human, but was considered an acceptable risk in his mind--even though he was sure none of his friends would see it that way. If the danger proved real and Legolas found out, he was in for far more trouble, and he knew it. Aragorn also had a sneaking suspicion that whatever it was that had attacked and hurt so many was not alone. 

Some of those parties that had been attacked had been rather large. No single beast, not even an elf, would attack a large party alone; they had too much sense for that. Also, no lone elf could eliminate a large party and leave no survivors, no matter how skilled. No, he felt there had to be more than one, even if the victims only ever saw one threat. No one had a clear memory or account of events, always claiming it had happened so fast, and that before they knew what had happened, they were virtually alone, the dark deep and threatening, hiding deadly intent that seemed to ooze from everywhere. 

Aragorn wondered how an elf would have seen the events, and if one of those fair but deadly beings could not have made more sense out of the proceedings or even managed to overcome whatever was attacking the people. He frowned. Maybe he should have let Elladan and Elrohir accompany him after all. 

The ranger shook his head. No, he would do this on his own. For some reason he could not quite place, he felt it was better this way. He assumed it was because he did not want to lead his brothers into danger. 

Aragorn stood. It was time for him to continue on his chosen path. If he had not missed his guess he would be nearly to a campsite frequented by the Dúnadan. He would stop and make camp there. Then he would move on and camp again where the last attack had occurred. The precise wisdom of camping in the location of an attack by an unknown threat was lost on the Ranger, but he knew of no better place to begin and was not overly worried of being attacked in that place. The beasts had not priorly attacked the same place twice. Then, when morning came, he would study the ground for clues as to the nature of this unknown threat and make a decision. What decision, though, was a bit foggy. 

The hours melted away, almost monotonous in their unchanging uniformity. The only noticeable change throughout it all was the slow ascent and descent of the sun moving away to the west and changing the cast of the shadows. While not precisely true, since the terrain in the Wild nor so close to the mountains was precisely the same, the observation had merit since the ranger had not seen a single beast, nor heard one, since he had left his last camp and the singing bird. No hint of a breeze stirred the stillness, and the sounds were as static as the ground, meaning there was nothing to be heard. Disquiet gnawed at his stomach, twisting it into apprehensive knots. The outdoors should never be so quiet and unmoving. Not if the area is safe. It would not have taken a Ranger to realize that here, alone, in the Wild, he was most certainly not safe. 

Aragorn halted and looked around in the failing light. He was still a couple days out from his intended destination and several miles from where he had intended to camp for the night. Truly, he had not intended to stop for several more hours yet, but he did not wish to come upon any trouble in the dark when he had no cause to tempt such trouble just yet. He knew he could stay where he was and camp for the night, but the idea held little appeal as it was not a secure location and not easily defensible if he was attacked in the night. 

The ranger lowered his small pack carefully to the ground, then followed it, stretching out flat and pressing his ear to the ground, listening for any approach or movement that the earth might reveal to him. 

Distantly, though he could not discern from where, he felt the echo of many pounding feet, and the closer vibration of the past as he identified what it was he felt: the passage of orc feet, numbering at least twenty, though it was hard to tell since the creatures had not been this way in many days. 

He climbed warily back to his feet and decided to continue on. He would continue on to his chosen campsite as planned, though he would have to forgo any thoughts of a fire or a hot meal. This did not bother him nearly so much as the prospect of meeting up with upwards of twenty orcs and whatever beasts hunted the Ettenmoors at night. As his lips tightened in consternation, Aragorn wondered just what he had gotten himself into. 

Still, little more than an hour later he had reached his destination and scouted the area. It was safe enough, all things considered, and he set about preparing a small and simple meal. The sounds of the forest had not returned to normal and he dared not make a fire to announce his presence to any unfriendly beasts who might roam the area. Then, gazing out about him he settled down with his back against the small cliff that jutted about the ground and let his eyes close. Another two days and he would reach his destination. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The next passed without event, and for that, Aragorn was extremely grateful. It was not that he feared orcs, but the prospect of meeting up with them certainly did not inspire in him any joyous feelings. Too many bad experiences precluded any such opportunity for feeling. Indeed, even had he not had the dubious privilege of meeting orcs personally, he still would not have enjoyed their company as he had heard too many stories of the horror of their treatment of others. 

It was well into the second day that any sign of trouble arose. He had been traveling at a steady clip and was several leagues away from Rivendell by now, and far enough away from the elven realm that he would find no elven patrols. It was with great unease that he noted the continued lack of noise in his surroundings. He knew this area to normally be full of life, if not so full as other areas, and found the lack of sound completely disturbing, though if he had not traveled through this area before, the constant silence over nearly three days might not have troubled him. Or even if he had been less wary, the silence might have ceased to bother him some time ago. As it was, the silence caused him to slow several times. 

Biting his lower lip in consternation, he looked around him. He was not far from his intended destination, he judged, maybe a couple of hours. He would continue on. There was nowhere around him he cared to stop, even though the sun was sinking lower in the sky, it's warm brilliance quickly becoming lost behind the trees, few though they were. 

Nearly two hours later, the ranger heard what he had been dreading since he had learned of the presence of orcs in the vicinity: orc voices. They were loud and coarse, and seemed to be coming from the direction he was headed, though he was not near enough yet to make out any words. 

He glanced around him carefully. Quickly, he found the guards posted around the camp to watch for intruders, though, for whatever reason, the beasts did not seem overly concerned about anyone approaching them out here. Whether it was because of the remote location or the recent attacks that were keeping most sensible beings away, he was not sure, but was glad for the inattentivness it caused on the part of his enemies for otherwise he almost surely would have been spotted by now. He had not been nearly as carefully about staying out of sight as he should have been, and had no desire to fall victim to orcs, regardless of whatever else threatened his existence so near the northern Misty Mountains in the Ettenmoors, which he had entered shortly after lunch. 

Moving carefully and quietly so as not to alert the orc band to their unexpected guest, Aragorn moved off to the side and away from direct observation by the foul beasts he had stumbled upon. Then, as quietly and discretely as possible, he moved closer so as to listen to the conversation in the camp. 

Slowly, the words came into focus. ". . . keep this up," one voice said. "Why should we listen to them?" 

"Hush!" another hissed. "They'll hear you!" 

"Buzz off!" the first cried. "Just because you're scared of your own shadow doesn't mean we have to take this. They're stealing our fun." 

"You can lose your head if you want to, but if they hear this talk, _you'll_ be the one they're having 'fun' with next," the second sulked, not happy with being called a coward. 

Another voice spoke up then, "It's not as if many come this way anyway," he whined. "And certainly not those foul Elves. We could move further south and find more, then we'd be out of their way." 

"And further in the way of the elves. Our numbers aren't so great that we can face a large party of Elves!" 

Aragorn frowned slightly as he lost track of who was speaking. He wasn't sure if that was a new voice or one of those who had already spoken. 

"They can," a new voice hissed quietly, stilling the argument. "Maybe They'd be happy and leave more prey to us if we drew the Elves further north." 

"How could we do that?" the first voice demanded, curiosity only just tingeing his words. 

He heard movement as someone changed position, then, "We move further south as Gorbert said, and gain the attention of the Elves. If we grab it hard enough and head north, they'll come looking for us," he told the others. "Then, when they are far from help, They can have them. Happy." 

The ranger wondered uneasily who _they_ were. If they were a danger to elves, like the orcs seemed to think, then they were dangerous indeed. He returned his attention to the creatures before him and realized their discussion was done. Most had turned away and were brooding with various expressions of glee and anticipation upon their grisly faces. Apparently, they had decided to carry out the plan. 

Which left Aragorn with a decision to make. He had come to find out what the Dread of the Ettenmoors was, but had come upon a deadly plot to eliminate elves instead. Did he then continue his search and hope he found something quickly so he could then return and hope to warn his friends before it was too late, or did he head back and abandon his search? He bit his bottom lip absently as he considered. He would gain nothing by searching the clearing after the orcs were gone. Their heavy footsteps would have wiped out any evidence that had been left. He was not sure where to go from here. 

The ranger looked up and glanced around, trying to place the orc patrol who was watching the surrounding land. He needed to know where they were so he could slip away. When he saw them, however, he froze. The stationed orcs had moved closer to his hiding place while he listened to the discussion and were now nearly on top of him. He crouched down further in the undergrowth, hoping to disappear until their attention turned elsewhere and thus allow him to escape. He was distressed when, instead of moving away, they seemed to be coming closer. A thrill of panic shot up his spine as he furiously tried to determine if they had seen him. 

Apprehensively, he watched as two guards closed in on his location and stopped, facing each other, barely two feet away from his hiding place. He closed his eyes in relief that he had not been spotted. Yet. 

He was forced to watch as they carried on a mostly quiet conversation in the foul tongue of their people. These two apparently knew each other from the same tribe, as most tribes could not understand another's language. It was a foul people who could not understand their own people when speaking in their own tongue, and who were just as likely to turn on their own as the enemy. Though they were just as quick to join forces against someone or thing they hated as bicker among themselves. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest as every moment they stood talking heightened the chances that they would discover him. 

After what seemed like hours, and was in reality only minutes, the two turned around and continued on their posts, heading back the way they had come. Aragorn breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He really did not relish the thought of being caught by orcs, again. And this time, he would not have Legolas around to bail him out. 

He glanced around to make sure no one was looking his direction, then he carefully crept away from his hiding place . . . and the orc camp. He made it five paces before he came face to face with an orc, who looked just as startled as he felt. He had not heard the beast's approach. Quickly, he pulled his sword and dispatched the foul creature--but not before the attention of every orc in the camp had been alerted to his presence. The orc fell before him and he took off, the rest of the camp behind him. Unfortunately, not all of the orcs were in the camp and some appeared before him. 

Impatiently, and with growing alarm, he fought off the onslaught of enemies that came at him. A wide sweep beheaded two who had ventured too close, but also left him open to attack. He barely managed to duck a blow to his head from behind, bringing his sword up quickly to guard against the return swing that was aimed for his chest. He pushed his opponent's sword away and stabbed his own blade quickly through the being's chest, dropping the orc where he stood. Another took his place and took his swing. More approached. Aragorn tried to move away so he could break free, but the creatures swarmed him, able to get more to slow his path every time he moved away from one clump, allowing another to form. 

Minutes slipped away and more orc bodies fell. If he had been counting, indeed if he had been able to count, Aragorn would have realized the orc band he'd stumbled onto numbered nearly a hundred (scattered fairly well around the area) and had been cut down by more than a fourth with his efforts--a fact which held little comfort for the Ranger, but was intriguing to another who could count. 

He swung his sword up yet again to cut off the path of yet another sword. His shoulder ached and he could not remember the last battle he had fought which had lasted so long. He pushed the deadly blade back and struck out at the next warrior who came at him, managing to disarm him before he swung his blade around to remove the creature's head and blocking yet another strike that was aimed for him from another quarter. Sweat dripped down his forehead and matted his hair to his face. Six more fell to his sword in rapid succession and he made a break for it. 

Six steps away he was faced with another orc who swung for his head. The ranger took advantage of the unbalance of his opponent and merely shoved him as he ducked the blade and continued running. He danced through the trees as arrows began raining down around him. None landed, but he was grateful when he gained the shelter of an area more densely covered in trees. 

He leaned back and wiped his hand across his forehead, slightly surprised when it came away smeared with red. Then he hissed as he felt the sting of the cut, now that his attention could be drawn by its pain. He dabbed at the cut with some cloth, then pressed it to the cut. He looked around. This was not the direction he had come from, but that was just as well. Quickly, he started running. If he hurried, he could make it back to Rivendell in two day's time, but he would not be able to stop if he hoped to do that. Still, he obviously could not stay here. He merely hoped he had the strength to run that far for that long. 

He never noticed that he was being watched. 

The figure quietly perched in the tree near where the engagement had taken place. None of the orcs had seen her, and so paid her no attention. They were busy tending their dead, a matter she had no sympathy for. It was their own fault for failing to notice the human's presence in the first place. No, she was more interested in the man. His fighting style was familiar, as if she had seen it before though she could not begin to surmise where. 

She glanced down at the orcs. Now the human knew too much as was most likely going to warn the elves. Her superiors would have to be told. This orc band was more trouble than it was worth. She would be glad when they could kill them. Maybe it would even be soon. 

The human would have to be killed. She glanced in the direction he had disappeared in. He was skilled. Maybe they would let her do it. It had been a long time since she had come across an opponent truly worthy of her attention. Maybe she could have fun with this one. She would have to ask Shirk. 

Quickly, she turned away and dropped lightly to the ground out of sight of the chaotic orcs who seemed to have no clue what was going on. She cast a disdainful glance over her shoulder at their ineptitude before making her way soundlessly in the opposite direction. She would reach their southern base by morning. Then maybe she would finally gain something that could hold her attention. 


	3. Before the Council

You know, I am so jealous. Cassia and Sio get people flocking to read their stories. What's the secret. *pouts* I'm really not that difficult to please. Just read and say 'good' or something to that effect. If you suffer nicely through this story, I promise the second (which I'm already working on) will have plenty of Legolas and Aragorn. Plus plenty of torture, though I won't say anymore. I'm already on chapter 4! *looks around hopefully for more reviewers*****

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**Bill the Pony:** *curtsies* Why thank you, kind sir. This chapter is just for you. Apparently literally, since you're they only reviewer I got this time around. *g* Enjoy.****

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**Before the Council**

It was later than he would have liked when Aragorn finally stumbled across the bridge that led to Lord Elrond's house. He was aware that elven sentinels had noted his presence long before and probably already informed Elrond of the return of his adopted son--back too soon after his departure--and the disheveled state he was in. The human might have laughed if he had not been too weary to even contemplate how his reception would go after the long battle with the orcs and then his fairly speedy sprint back to Rivendell on a slightly shorter route than he had taken out. 

He paused briefly before leaving the bridge, taking the opportunity to try and gain back some of his breath. Light footsteps falling quickly warned him a moment before they appeared that his brothers were approaching. 

They paused, looking him up and down, as he straightened. "Estel, what happened?" Elladan demanded, moving forward until he was by the young man's side, a hand poised near the Ranger's arm, ready to catch him if he stumbled. 

"Orcs," Aragorn replied with a shake of his head. "Maybe a hundred. I couldn't exactly count them." He took a deep breath as his heart beat stopped running the marathon it had been bent on. "I stumbled upon a band of Orcs while they were in the middle of a . . . meeting. I must talk to Father." He started forward again, a little stronger now that he had managed to regain his breath. 

Neither twin opposed him, but followed the human back towards the house, where Lord Elrond stood waiting on the porch facing them. His hands were folded behind his back and his expression was grave as Aragorn approached. 

"Are you injured, Estel?" he asked. 

"Nay, Father," the human replied. "A cut on my head is all. But that's not important. I bear bad news, my lord." 

The elf lord nodded. "Come, Dúnadan, we will discuss it." 

Aragorn followed Elrond down the hall towards the elf's study. On the way, the elder stopped a messenger and quietly gave him some instructions. The other nodded quickly and darted off, quickly carrying out whatever instructions he had been given. The ranger was too preoccupied to puzzle out what the elf could have possibly said. He was tired and his thoughts were spinning uselessly around his head, seeking something solid and finding nothing to gain purchase on. 

The Hall of Fire was empty when they arrived, and Elrond turned to look at his youngest son, locking eyes with the man before him. "Come, we have a few minutes. Have some tea, Estel. If I did not feel that this was important, I would insist it wait until you had rested, for you are obviously weary." 

Aragorn nodded, too tired to reply but understanding he need not argue. He accepted the tea easily and drank readily, the warm liquid spreading through his belly and wiping out some of the tense anxiety that kept his thoughts in turmoil. After a few minutes, the ranger felt better and his mind had cleared. He smiled. 

"Thank you, Father. I feel much better now." 

Elrond nodded just as the door opened and several others walked in; Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir among them. The elf lord answered his questioning look, "More need to hear your tidings than just I. I suspect this effects us all." 

Aragorn nodded slowly. He watched as a group of twelve elves seated themselves around the room, the chairs pulled forward to form a half circle facing the human and the elf. Elrond stepped forward, his expression grave. 

"I have asked you hear to bear witness to the testimony of Strider, Ranger of the North. He has been north, and has discovered something deemed important to hear. Listen, my friends." 

That said, he motioned the young man forward and took a seat himself. Aragorn stepped forward and bowed, though he did not need to. He took the moment to gain a better handle on his emotions and consider, at least for another moment, what he desired to say. He glanced around him. "I have indeed traveled north, though not as far as I had planned. A little further than three days travel, I stumbled upon a band of Orcs, maybe a hundred strong. They did not notice my presence and I was able to overhear their conversation. They spoke of 'them' or 'they' and while I do not know who 'they' are, I would wager they are dangerous, for the Orcs seemed to fear them, and seemed to believe you had reason to as well. 

"One spoke of a plan. He proposed the Orcs venture further south and harass Rivendell to gain your ire and convince you to pursue them back into the lands they have claimed as their own, where you could be hunted by 'them.' I can only think that perhaps 'they' are who I was heading north to find, and if that is so then they are more dangerous than I had previously imagined." 

"The Orcs said this?" Tirian queried, and Aragorn groaned inwardly. 

He knew this particular elf was none too fond of him and was always willing to oppose whatever he said. "Yes, and I have never known them to fear much of anything when their numbers are so great." 

"But how do we know that 'they' are not of greater numbers?" 

Aragorn took a deep breath, using the moment to consider. "I do not believe they are. Only one has ever been seen when attacking convoys, if they are indeed the same creatures, and these convoys were rarely small or sparsely armed, yet only one needed to be present." 

"You are speaking on conjecture," Tirian interrupted in disdain. 

"Perhaps," Aragorn allowed. "But conjecture is better than unexpected. Evil is stirring, something must be done to counter it." 

"Evil that would not be stirring if not for your ancestors." 

The cold words struck Aragorn like a slap to the face. He had not known that Tirian held Isildur's actions against him, had not thought that any of the elves in his father's realm considered him to be anything like Isildur, but he knew he should not have been surprised; the failure of his distant ancestor had caused the elves great pain and heartache. It had demeaned many sacrifices and heightened many losses by denying the goal that had been the purpose of the whole fight. Not entirely, perhaps, but when Isildur had taken the ring, he ensured the fight was not ended, and that was difficult to bear, especially since the elves could remember the days of peace that men could not, for it allowed the darkness to continue. 

Still, it was news he would have preferred to do without. There were enough elves who held him at arms length more because of his ancestry than any personal reason than those who simply did not like him, and he found the former reason harder to bear. He could accept a being not liking him because he had done something to garner their ill favor, but it galled him to have the opportunity of befriending them taken away when he was not even around to defend himself. He said nothing. There was nothing he could say; the words were true, if unfair. 

"Do not place blame on the shoulders of one who should not bear it," Glorfindel spoke up quietly, surprising the ranger. "Aragorn has done you no harm, and the tidings he bears deserve consideration in their own right without dismissing them because of the messenger. It would be folly to ignore this message simply because the messenger does not agree with you, Tirian." 

"I was not suggesting we dismiss the information," Tirian returned calmly. "I simply wished to note that Men sometimes make mistakes." 

Aragorn grit his teeth so as to keep his mouth shut and insure he did not say anything stupid. 

"The source is not in question." Elrond put an end to any further comments on his credibility before they could be voiced. "We have come to determine what is to be done. The threat, real or imagined, must be considered." 

Elrohir spoke next, his voice soft and cold. "Orcs cannot be allowed near Rivendell." Everyone present knew what had happened to the twin's mother and had known instinctively what the brothers' response would be. This, every elf just happened to agree to. 

"Indeed," Glorfindel seconded. "But how shall we stop them? I would not wish to wait for their arrival, but is it not just as foolish to hunt them when we know so little as to pretend they are no threat at all?" 

"Not quite as foolish," Elladan countered. "At least if we hunted them we would be expecting to find them." 

"And if we found more than we were expecting?" Tirian countered. 

"It is dangerous ground we tread," Elrond spoke up quietly. 

Aragorn watched intently as the Elves spoke, trying to figure out what he considered their best course of action to be. He knew what he wanted to do. He absolutely despised waiting around for the enemy to find him. He would rather head out and face the threat, folly though it be, and he suspected that was one reason Tirian was leery of him as the elf insisted on carefully considering each option before choosing a course of action. Tirian considered him impatient and impulsive. The problem was the ranger could not honestly deny the claim. 

The silence stretched still further. "Could a scouting party be sent?" Aragorn finally inquired of the silence after it had lingered far too long for his tastes. 

Startled faces looked at him with various expressions, ranging from thoughtful to flat disdainful. He could just imagine what response this latest idea would evoke. He waited. 

"A scouting party?" Tirian inquired as if the ranger had suggested Sauron was the nicest being on all of Middle-earth. "What good would a scouting party do against a threat that has wiped out whole convoys?" 

"They could gain more information to add to your collection and perhaps provide better insight into a responsible course of action." 

"I could not in good conscious order any of my warriors to check such a thing, knowing how very dangerous it could be," Glorfindel said with a frown. 

"Could you in good conscious leave the people you defend defenseless because you would not do your job?" Aragorn countered, continuing quickly before anyone could pounce on that last statement. "Nay, you could not, and I would ask neither of you. More than likely you would have some warriors willing to volunteer after they learned of the situation. I dare say it would not be necessary to command such an assignment." He paused a moment, then continued, still holding the blonde elf's gaze. "Indeed, I would go if such was to be your course of action." He did not add that he would go regardless. 

Silence followed, and the Dúnadan wondered who would comment on his declaration first. 

He was surprised again when no one made any comment to his statement, simply staring in various directions, thoughtful expressions on their faces. This time, though, he let the silence be. He could think of nothing else to add, and knew from experience that pushing further would gain him nothing and could hinder any preparations which would be made. He did, however, know one thing: whatever was finally decided, he would be returning north to complete his search. Regardless of whether he was accompanied or not, he would go and they would not be able to stop him since he would be perfectly within his rights. He suspected his brothers might try anyway, knowing that more was known--or suspected--about the threat they were facing. 

Finally, Glorfindel spoke. "I would feel better if we knew more about this threat that endangers not only us, but the other peoples of Middle-earth." His glance took in the others in the room. "It is an uneasy feeling having no knowledge of what we might be facing, and if this is the work of Sauron, we had best know of it." 

Elrond nodded slowly. "I agree." 

Aragorn slowly let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. Action would be taken; it was a start he would readily accept. 

"I would learn more about them as well," Elladan spoke up from his position. "I would scout out this threat." 

"Me as well," Elrohir chimed in. Few would have expected differently. Where one twin was, the other would not be far away, so inseparable were they. 

This Aragorn was not pleased with at all. He did not want his adopted family, his only remaining family, put in so much danger. Rationally, he knew his brothers' did not want _him_ in danger either, but that just ensured he would not object, not like it. So while his jaw clenched in agitation, he made not a sound. Who was sent in a scouting party was out of his hands, and really, he had expected nothing less, even if he had not wanted to acknowledge what he knew. Elladan and Elrohir were relentless when it came to orcs and would pursue anything connected to the vile creatures if they did anything to gain the attention of Rivendell. 

Glorfindel looked to Elrond. "I'm sure I can find another two to join them," he stated, before his gaze slid sideways to include Aragorn. "The five of them should be able to move quietly in and out and hopefully find what they need to know and bring it back to us with minimal trouble." 

It briefly amused the young man that the elf had assumed he would be included. He supposed they had learned enough about his stubborn nature to know he would not back down nor be excluded simply because he was human. By the frown on the twins' faces he knew they were no more happy about his involvement than he was about theirs, but they also held their tongues. 

Lord Elrond nodded. "Very well. They will leave tomorrow. The necessary arrangements will be made before departure." The elf's blue eyes surveyed those around him, pausing briefly on his sons. "May you all come back to us." 

With that, he stood and left the room. The rest followed, some talking quietly amongst themselves. Glorfindel immediately departed, walking quickly to talk to his men to find out who would wish to go. Aragorn had a feeling the blonde elf would join the party if he was able, but he was not sure what commitments the other had here which would hinder his movements. The ranger was anxious to be gone, now that the decision had been made. But his fatigue, which he had managed to ignore till now, came back with a vengeance and the ranger wavered slightly on his feet. 

"Easy there, brother," Elladan said, his voice light with amusement, as he slipped his arm through his the man's arm, keeping him upright. 

Elrohir assumed a similar position on the other side. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself before the hunt now would we," he teased. Aragorn looked between the two, his gaze slightly dazed as his tired mind tried to keep up with the conversation now that the adrenaline that had kept him on his feet was leaving his system and leaving him more fatigued than he could remember being in a long time. 

Both elves laughed at the perplexed look that crossed the Dunadan's face. 

"Come on," Elladan urged, starting the trio walking. "It's time for bed. There will be plenty of time for discussion once you are rested, Estel. I would hear more of this Orc attack." 

Aragorn nodded, then yawned. He smiled sheepishly. "As soon as I can think straight," he promised. 

Somehow, Aragorn ended up in bed. He was asleep before he hit the pillow. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

"You're sure?" 

"Yes. They will come looking for us." 

"They cannot succeed. The master would not be pleased." 

"I want the man." 

"Not too easy for you, Kelt?" 

"Let me worry about that." 

"Fine. He's yours. See that you don't mess up." 

Kelt smiled fiercely and turned away. She had preparations to make before she began the hunt. The man would not escape her. She would make sure of it, and prove to her companions that there had been no mistake in including her. They would see. She would make sure of that, too. 


	4. Hunt for the Hunters

Hey hey! I've decided to post this tonight in case I don't wake up in time to post it early tomorrow. My plans seem to work about the same way Aragorn's do: they never work like they're supposed to. It's proven, by the way. A running joke with my firends as none of our plans ever end up like they're supposed to. I've tried to upload this thing three times (this being the third) and hopefully, I finally have it right. *g* By the way, on a completely pointless, useless note of inquiry: are there any _male_ fanfic writers? Everyone I know of is a She-elf. Unless I'm mistaken. Again. *grins sheepishly at Bill the Pony*****

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**Karri:** Maybe you did and FF.net lost it. I woudln't be surprised. In any case, I forgive you! *g* Anyway, we're getting closer to the 'her' part that really has me worried. Hope I don't lose you to her! Lol. Yeah, I am so on the Cassia and Sio bandwagon. Couldn't get off if I wanted to, either. *sigh* They're so good. Oh, and I happen to love Bitterness of Mortality, by the way, though I could swear I missed a part. . . . Eh, now that I've realized it's on here, I think I may actually review it. Hehe. I hate reviewing on the list, everyone's so much faster than I am. lol. 

**Bill the Pony:** Ooh, would you! *clamps hand over mouth in horror* I mean, would you be so kind as to do that? I'd really appreciate it. Clones are a really good idea. I suppose I could ask George Lucas for some, maybe he'd lend me a couple. Lol. Actually, I realized my mistake a few minutes too late, for I had already posted it. Did you at least get a little laugh at my stupidity? It would make me feel so much better.****

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**NaughtyNat:** *blinks* I hadn't thought of that. How do you accept anonymous reviews? I post about once a week, usually either late Friday, or early Saturday. That gives me plenty of time to work in a final read-through of my chapters before I post them to make sure they're . . . Um, coherent. I haven't quite settled on an exact age for him. Originally, I had it at fifty, then decided I didn't want him to be that old, so he's somewhere in his late twenties, maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight. 

I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as the previous ones!****

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**Hunt for the Hunters**

Dawn came bright and early and the Ranger woke with its first rays, slightly annoyed to realize he had slept the entire day away, more than fifteen hours. Still, he had to admit he felt better. 

His hand brushed across his forehead and contacted the bandage that covered the cut he had gained in his battle with the orcs. Carefully, he removed it. The cut had not been that bad and he knew he no longer needed the bandage. 

He sat up quickly and hissed, pulling something he had not realized would object to the abrupt treatment. A hand gently tested the area and encountered yet another bandage. Frowning, he pulled up his shirt and stared. Apparently, he had not escaped as unscathed as he had thought. This one he pulled away slower. A thin scar about two inches long marred his flesh, but it appeared to be nearly healed. He reapplied the bandage and stood, albeit a bit slower this time. The last thing he wanted to do was re-injure himself when going a bit slower now would enable him quicker recovery. That, at least, he had learned over the years, even if he had failed to learn to duck. He smirked slightly as he moved around, putting on fresh clothes and making sure all his supplies were packed. 

He smiled fondly as he realized Elladan and Elrohir had already taken care of that for him, no doubt anticipating how late he would sleep. They had probably had a hand in insuring he would, in fact. He could not remember them giving him anything, but he was sure either they or his father had. He shook his head; it mattered little now. 

Moving as quickly as he dared, the Ranger moved about his room, putting things in order and looking about to see if the twins had missed anything. He found nothing and was about to leave when a small object caught his eye. 

Small, the object would have fit easily inside the palm of his hand and easily been engulfed. When he picked it up, he found that it was light and beautifully made. He also knew that he had not seen if before. It was a tree, rich in detail, with a star carved into its side, and it did not take long for him to realize who it was from. He smiled and wondered when Legolas had left it. He turned it over and saw, carved into the bottom with a light and precise touch in elvish: _Always remember friendship shines even if the deepest dark. _

A soft bump drew his attention to the doorway, and the Dúnadan looked up quickly to find Elladan watching him closely. "He stopped by while you were away with the Rangers and wanted you to have it, though he could not wait for your return. Elrohir and I forgot about it, and you have not stayed long in your room lest it be spent sleeping." 

"Why?" Aragorn asked softly, knowing the other would understand the question. 

A slight shrug barely lifted the elven shoulders. "He seemed to think it was important for you to have. It is Legolas you will have to ask if you desire a better answer." 

He nodded. He started to place it back on the dresser, then stopped and wrapped it carefully in some cloth and placed it in his bag. 

"You would risk losing it?" Elladan asked with a frown. 

"I hope not," the human replied with a shrug. "For some reason, though, I feel I should take it, and Father is always urging me to trust my instincts." He glanced at his brother. The other simply nodded. 

"Come, then," he bid. "We are ready to leave." 

Aragorn followed the other out and down the hallway. "Who is going?" 

"Those who volunteered." 

"And who volunteered?" 

Elladan glanced at him sideways. "Taima and Elnour." 

He smiled. "I half expected Glorfindel would come," he remarked casually to the elf. 

"He would have but there are many duties he must attend to here, and Father would not allow it. Someone needs to be here if we are given the slip and Rivendell attacked in our absence." 

"I hardly think our absence would make much different to those we seek in their plans, Elladan," Aragorn laughed. "We are but a few." 

"Few, my brother, can change the course of many," Elladan corrected the human. "Do not judge an enemy by numbers alone, but by the strength of their heart as well." 

The human nodded. "I shall remember that, my brother," he answered. 

Elladan smiled. "Now tell me of this battle of yours with the Orcs." 

"Nay, Elladan," he denied with a smile. "If I tell you now, I shall simply have to repeat it when we rejoin the others. Waiting a few more minutes will do you no harm." 

"Humans," the elf muttered good-naturedly under his breath, just loud enough for the ranger to hear, and Aragorn laughed. 

It was not long before they exited the house and approached the small group gathered by the bridge. They would be traveling on foot even as Aragorn had done originally so as to more easily go unseen by unfriendly eyes. 

He stopped on the bridge and looked back to Elladan, who, as he had expected, took charge of the group. "Now, Ranger, I would have you tell us more about your encounter. Anything you remember that might be helpful." 

The ranger spent the next twenty minutes filling the group in on as much detail as he could remember. His memories were a touch foggier than he liked and a slight frown pulled at his lips as he described the events and truly realized how much he was not sure of. If the elves found the lack of detail disquieting, they did not show it. He was not sure if he found that comforting or not. 

Eventually, he came to the end of his story and Elrohir nodded slowly, thinking of the best choice of action for the group to take. Finally, he spoke. "We should find this camp. We can start there. If we arrive during the day, there should be no Orcs. They do not fancy sunlight, after all." 

"If we camp a mile off it will be easy to cover the remaining distance and discover what we seek before those vile creatures have a chance to return. We'll be gone before they can note our presence." Elladan looked at the other two elves, who nodded. When his brothers turned to look at him as well, he added his consent to the argument. 

It sounded alright to him. Even if it had not, he could think of no better plan; really, it was much the same as his previous plan had been, except he had intended to stay at the other camp and not wait until daylight. Perhaps if he had, he would not have been attacked by orcs. Of course, he also would have missed their discussion and not known of the danger to Rivendell. He wondered if following a plan that had already failed was a good idea, though, really, he could not say it was a bad idea. The ranger shook his head to clear his rambling thoughts. There were other things that deserved his attention other than worrying about the advisability of a plan that had no true faults. The orcs would either be there or they would not. They could make the plans, but there was no guarantee they would work. There was never a guarantee they would work. 

He glanced up from where his gaze had settled on the ground and caught Elrohir watching him. The man smiled in an attempt to erase the concern he saw in his brother's eyes. The other smiled back and turned around. He chastised himself for causing his brothers unnecessary concern. 

With little effort, the small group of human and elves worked their way north toward the Ettenmoors and grew ever closer to the camp. Their pace was leisurely, and at least while they were still near Rivendell, they contented themselves to enjoy the scenery. As soon as they passed the elven lands, however, they increased their pace to a quick but silent jog and wove soundless through the trees and over the slightly rolling ground. 

Aragorn frowned as he noticed they were traveling the same path he had traveled just a few days ago, and realized he was no more at ease among his elven friends than he had been while alone. He noted that revelation warily and did his best to turn his attention to his surroundings and away from distracting thoughts. 

These lands were well known to him after so many years, but they had changed as well. The darkening shadow that kept spreading meant no place was safe just because it had been in the past. He could not afford to be distracted when dangers un-guessed could be lurking just around the next tree. The Ranger pressed his lips firmly together, annoyed with himself despite the fact that nothing had gone wrong. 

He noted the trees they passed. Stones that stuck up and had to be dodged around. His ears caught the faint sound of a singing bird, and he was grateful that the unnatural silence had at least in part been broken. The quiet murmur of a stream out of sight gradually came to his hearing. 

He listened closely, but no further sounds disturbed the peace. Hours passed seemingly unchanging, and when night fell, neither man nor elf found any cause to be alarmed. Still, despite the peaceful passing of the day, they set watch and drifted into light slumber. Nothing happened and the group continued, with much the same results on their second night out. Somehow, though, the serenity of their surroundings did little to put the scouts at ease and their tension was steadily increasing. 

The third day, about an hour into their travels, the sounds of the forests ceased. The group slowed and looked around, but elven eyes caught not the faintest hint of movement. It seemed that nothing was around them. Exchanging worried glances, the quintet continued on, slightly slower and far more wary than before. Despite their unease, none of the companions noticed anything out of place in their surroundings, save the unnatural silence, and they came to their pre decided camp site a mile from their desired destination without incident, or any evidence of orc passage. Aragorn frowned and gazed off towards the mountains. He was supposed to be sleeping, but his mind would not ease enough to grant him rest. 

It could be nothing, he knew. The orcs might not have passed through here. After all, he had not passed this direction when he fled the engagement nigh on a week ago, but something about that did not seem right and he had the distinct impression that the creatures had passed this way recently though the tracks were not present to be seen. 

He felt eyes on him and glanced to the left, catching sight of Elladan glaring at him unhappily. The human gave a weak smile and laid down. He knew better than to challenge his brother. He would sleep. Or at least try to. Tomorrow they would arrive at the camp and he wanted to be well rested to help examine the area. A weary mind sometimes missed what fresh might see. He closed his eyes, and the last thing he was aware of was Elladan returning his attention to the forest around him, satisfied that his human brother would rest. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt moved quickly through the undergrowth that surrounded the base of the mountain she was descending, stepping lightly among the plants so as not to blatantly leave behind any marks of her presence. She was uncommonly good at it for a human and it helped her greatly in her tasks--especially where stealth was required. 

The young female reached the bottom of the mountain and crouched. Keen eyes of the brightest blue scanned the surrounding lands. Nothing moved. She supposed most of the life had been scared away by now. It was unlikely that anything yet remained alive in this area, as they had found out quite quickly that being caught by those who had come to their lands tended to mean death. This one, however, was not going to take a chance and watched the area carefully. She had not gained her reputation by being careless. She was persistent by nature, and a perfectionist by necessity. Those who made mistakes died quickly. 

However, the area was clear and she moved toward a group of trees to the south, keeping to the shadows that dotted the landscape as much as possible even though there was little shelter to be had this far north and so close to the Misty Mountains. Most of the land was barren save for patches here and there, but boulders lying along the rocky scape worked well enough. It would not be long before she left the mountain's shoulders in any case, and she looked forward to being among the trees though it galled her briefly to think of how elven that desire sounded. 

She pushed the thought away and dashed the last stretch to reach the cover of the trees, never mind that she had not taken proper precautions and ensured no one was watching. No living soul had been seen in these parts for near on a month now. At least that is what she told herself when her mind started screaming at her for being so careless. She pushed the voice away and told herself firmly that it did not matter; the trees were better cover. 

Her slight form blended easily in with the encroaching dark as she watched the shadows shift with the last of the fading light. Five days had passed since she had watched the man run from the orcs, orcs that would now never discuss anything again. They had been taken care of the next day when she and the other two with her had returned to the area. It had not taken long to find them, and even less time was devoted to wiping them out. The Slyntari had disposed of the bodies, the clearing where the slaughter--for there was no other way to describe it--had taken place barely showing that anyone had inhabited the place, much less died there. 

If Kelt were to be honest with herself, she had to admit to a certain respect for the man's skills. He had taken out just over thirty orcs on his own in his retreat, and that was nothing to be passed off lightly. Orcs were cruel and not overly bright, but they were still dangerous, especially in large numbers, and a band of a hundred orcs was anything but small. She had mentioned her opinion of the mortal's skills to her leader in passing but had refrained from mentioning the number of orcs he had slain, nor had she said how many had originally populated the pack. As she paused in the shadow of yet another tree, she wondered at the oversight. Now, alone with her own thoughts, she could not imagine why she had not told her leader of the true extent of the other's skills. Had she feared the man would not let her hunt the other? She frowned, but could find no answer. 

She moved further into the protective covering of the trees. The light had failed and little was to be seen. Likely nothing would see her, but it was also likely that should someone approach she would not see them, either. If she ran into something alive, she would have to kill it, and the time it would take to dispose of the body would delay her hunt. Quietly, she moved under a tree and jumped. One of the branches was just low enough to reach and she wrapped her hands around it facing each other before she swung her legs so that she could hook one of the limb and pull herself up. In a matter of moments she was seated straddling the fairly thick limb and had her balance. Quickly, she moved further up, easily and gracefully scaling the tree with a nearly elvish grace--had anyone been around to see it and had they ever seen an elf to compare the movements to--that was out of place in one who had been raised in barren Mordor. 

Once up and out of sight, she settled quietly on one of the branches in a crook that would hold her weight and keep her from falling while she slept. Her gaze swept the area once again, and came to rest further south though the destination she had in mind could not be seen from so far away, even by her eyes which saw much further than those she traveled with. After much deliberation on her part, she had decided to return to the camp the human had fought the orcs. Something in her whispered that was a good place to start and she had learned early that it was wise to trust that voice. 

With a last, chilling smile, she leaned sideways, back, and to the side, her weight braced so she would not slip, and closed her eyes. Sleep, though light, took her quickly. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Morning found the small party quickly and quietly going about making breakfast while breaking down the camp, such as it was. The area was returned to normal by the time Taima had finished making their breakfast, having risked a small fire now that the forest was not so quiet. Then, as all were anxious to be on their way, the food was eaten quickly and the journey rejoined. 

Not quite thirty minutes later, the human and four elves stepped into the clearing where Aragorn had overheard the conversation between the orcs and stopped dead. 

The ranger looked about him in stunned silence. Someone had removed the bodies of the dead and wiped out all traces of their presence. While the former might very well have been the remaining orcs, the latter most certainly had not been. Signs of the campfire had been removed. Dirt that should have been disturbed by dozens of footprints was more of less smooth. No broken twigs littered the ground to make the passage of any creature. The trees that surrounded them were unmarked. The elves turned to look at him in confusion. 

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Elrohir asked. 

"It is the right place," Aragorn murmured distractedly as he moved forward and knelt in the center of the clearing, his hand closing around the dirt before he left it sift through his fingers. A fire pit had lain here and he knew it. He dug around a little bit and uncovered a stone. A little more digging found another. The others came up behind him to look over his shoulder and he moved the soil to reveal the circle of stones that had been covered up. He looked around and moved to another patch of dirt, noting the even spread and the slight brush marks that were barely noticeable. He moved his hand over it without touching as he traced the indentions that betrayed the work of a hand outside of nature. "Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to conceal the fact that Orcs have camped here," he told his companions. "Someone who knows what a tracker looks for. No Orc did this." 

The others nodded. Elladan spoke, "You are right. The question, then, is who?" 

"Yes," Elrohir agreed. "But there is why, also." 

"And where," Elnour spoke up quietly. The others looked at him. "We have no knowledge of where they have gone or where they came from," he explained. 

Elladan nodded. "Then that is what we must find out, as well as what has happened to the remaining Orcs. It will be difficult since the evidence of their presence at their last known location has been removed." The elf narrowed his eyes as he looked around. Never before had he seen an orc camp look so undisturbed. 

Aragorn also had never found an orc camp to look so . . . clean. Careful to keep from disturbing more than he had to, the man walked to the edge of the clearing, trying to discover how there were no broken branches. He blinked in surprise, then smiled. "We may yet be able to discover something of their movements," he announced. 

Elrohir moved up behind him. "They cut off the broken branches." He shook his head in faint astonishment. "Why go to all this trouble to hide an Orc camp?" 

"Why, indeed," Elladan seconded. "Fan out!" he called to the others. "We must see if we can discover which way the Orcs fled." The elf twins exchanged glances with their human brother before they, too, dispersed to look for clues. Aragorn continued the search where he was before moving further out, trying to glean the slightest hint from his surroundings. 

He had nearly given up the search when he caught sight of a footprint heading west; it was too small and light to have been made by an orc. He frowned, and slowly traced the shape of the print, careful not to touch it, and measured its size. It was too small to be the print of a man, too light to be the print of an orc or a dwarf, and too heavy to be the print of an elf. This was a pretty mystery indeed. Still.... 

He glanced west and moved further away from the clearing, searching for another sign that someone had passed this way. The man was rewarded minutes later when he found a small scrap of cloth caught by a thorn on a plant that lined what could be deemed a trail as much of the plant life that surrounded it seemed intent on avoiding the area. He fingered the scrap carefully, a thoughtful frown on his face. He could not place the fabric. Not surprising, perhaps, but disturbing because he was almost positive it was not orcish. Could it be from those who had cleared the area? 

He glanced behind him. "Elladan? I think I've found something!" he called. He stood as the elves ran over to his side. He gestured them back to the footprint he had found. "I found this first." Elrohir studied it carefully, a frown working its way onto his face. Aragorn did not give him a chance to comment as he moved back to the plant. "Then I found this over here." The others turned and watched as he indicated the plant, then held out the bit of fabric. "I'm not entirely sure what made the footprint, but I think the cloth might belong to whoever did. And whoever it was apparently went west." 

The elves studied these two new pieces of evidence in silence for several long minutes. The ranger stayed silent, using the opportunity to explore a little further. He did not really expect to find anything, and he did not go far, just enough to give his companions a chance to reach whatever conclusions they would. 

He returned as Elladan straightened and turned to look at him. "We'll head west. Mayhap we will find what we seek." 

Aragorn nodded, and the scouting party returned to the clearing to pick up their abandoned supplies before carefully picking their way across the land, alert for any new signs of passage. They covered many miles before they found what they sought, and had almost turned back more than once. It was only Araorn's determination that kept them searching. 

In a small clearing, so small that it could barely be called a clearing and was more just a break in the trees, they came upon many footsteps much disturbed. Not a single print was left whole as the prints crossed and re-crossed each other. Dirt was also kicked about, further upsetting the prints. Aragorn frowned as he crouched near the center of the clearing, carefully scrutinizing what he found there. If he read things right, a group of people had stood here, however briefly, in a circle. He could just barely make out the footprints to support this as some other prints crossed them and disturbed the ones that were there; whether they were there from before or after, though, he could not be sure. 

"How do you read this puzzle, Strider?" Elladan asked as he crouched next to the human. 

Aragorn glanced up. "It is difficult to read. But I think a group of people stood in a circle here." He motioned with his hand to indicate the area. "Maybe five. But they crossed back and forth several times, for what purpose I cannot guess. But they stood here." 

"Could it be one person?" 

"Nay. There were at least two. This set of footprints is too large to be any of the others, though I cannot for sure say there were more than two. Perhaps there were only two and they simply moved." He gestured again at the disturbed ground before them. "It could be chance that placed their steps in a circle." 

"But you do not believe that." 

"No." 

The elf sighed. "I do not either." 

Further conversation was interrupted as Elnour called them over to where he and Taima were studying the ground further west and slightly to the north. Aragorn crossed over and looked at what they were studying. It was a footprint, clearly outlined in the soft ground. The Ranger glanced back towards the small clearing and traced the path the being had probably traveled with his eyes. 

"I suppose we continue traveling west?" Elrohir commented. 

Slowly, Elladan nodded. "We continue west," he agreed, "but we must all be careful. I do not like this." The grave expressions on his companions' faces were testament to the fact that they did not like it either. 

The elves started off again, but Aragorn hesitated. Something bothered him about this footprint. Why would beings who had taken so much trouble to erase the presence of orcs be so careless as to leave such a clear trail? They were obviously skilled. Why had not the trail disappeared already? He frowned, then turned and caught up with his companions. 

Night had fallen about an hour earlier when they came to another large clearing. Elladan stopped them. "If the Orcs did come this way, this is likely a spot where they may have stopped. We can risk disturbing nothing that may be found here. We will camp over here." He led the group to a stand of trees a short distance away. They drew watches, with Taima taking the first watch, and settled down to sleep until first light when they could inspect this newest area. 

Aragorn lay down on his bed roll and glanced over to the clearing. Deep in his heart, he dreaded what they would discover, though he could find no reason for the feeling. It was just there. He felt, somehow, that this was the beginning of something he could not even begin to comprehend, something that would be dangerous. He frowned, then shook his head and lay down. Morning would be soon enough. The worst situations were almost always brighter in the morning light. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt stood on the edge of the clearing where she had first seen the human so many days ago, a frown pulling at her lips. It had taken her longer than she had anticipated to return, but that was not what upset her. She had been right about this being a good starting place as was bared out by the footprints she saw crossing the open area surrounded by trees though the visitors were gone; that did not upset her, either. Her displeasure came from the actions of one of her own. 

Nirt obviously had not done as good a job of hiding the presence of the orcs as she had claimed. Evidence of tampering came easily to the trained and keen eyes of the young Slyntari that gazed at the area. More, those who had come back had obviously seen through the tampering as well. The human and whoever he brought with him were supposed to find nothing upon their return. She would have to report this to her leader. But not yet, not yet. She still had a man to hunt. She would inform Shirk later of the clumsiness of one of their own. She would need to be punished. 

The young Slyntari stepped lightly into the clearing and slowly approached the center, careful not to tread on any footprints though none presented themselves. She crouched before the newly re-exposed fire pit and studied the prints around it. One had knelt even as she did while others stood around it. The prints closest to the fire were deeper than the others. One man, four elves, Kelt thought. If she was right, and her memory did not fail her, then the man was the same one she had seen that night. The prints looked to match, even if she could not be completely sure. A small smile tugged at her lips. He had returned. She had known he would. 

She stood quickly and carefully followed beside the steps that led away to the west until they stopped before the trees. The man had stood before them for a while, probably examining the limbs. Her sharp gaze caught sight of the cut marks easily and felt the briefest stab of disgust, even as she pushed it aside and wondered where it had come from. She frowned, then continued to follow the footsteps as they led further west. 

For nearly an hour, she continued thus, before stopping and staring far into the distance. She, too, had caught the signs that the small group had been following. She also knew where it led. Nirt, it seemed, had left the elves a clear trail to follow straight to the next orc camp. She scowled and wondered what else the woman had left a trail towards. Then, she wondered how the other had managed to survive as a Slyntari. Shirk would never have tolerated such incompetence from her. Of course, if she were honest with herself, Shirk did not tolerate much from her at all unless it was perfection. That was the only thing that seemed to please him. 

She shook the brooding thoughts away. Now was not the time for them; she had to decide what her next course of action would be. She was in no hurry to meet up with the elves in the group. Really, her only concern was the human in their midst. How did one get to a human who traveled with elves without alerting the elves? 

The youth bit her lower lip as she thought, her eyes idly roaming across the landscape, seeing and yet not seeing everything in their path. Elves were difficult, she knew, and not to be toyed with, though Shirk loved to do it and was uniquely suited to the task. Truthfully, such actions made her sick though she would never admit it. The last thing she wanted to do was gain the attention of the elves in the party. One way or another, she had to separate the human from the elves. The question was how. 

Slowly, she drifted north. If the party came back, she did not want to be found following their trail. She did not want to be found at all. Not, at least, until she had come up with a plan to achieve her goals. Too much rested on this for her to fail. With a last glance back towards the clearing, Kelt turned and swung up into yet another tree. She settled herself down further up in the limbs and watched the sun set. Against her will, she heard the clear, sad voice of her mother drift through her mind singing words of happier days. She closed her eyes and banged her head semi-forcefully against the trunk, hoping to drive away the voice. It did not work, and the song continued to echo through her mind long after the last light disappeared from the sky and darkness took the land. Her eyes slowly drifted closed, and as consciousness fled the echoes of words she did not want to hear finally vanished. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Morning brought a decision to return in the direction they had come. This second campsite was even cleaner than the first, if indeed it had been an orc campsite. Not even the slightest hint remained behind to point out signs of previous inhabitants. Aragorn was frustrated. He had been sure the orcs, or at least whoever had wiped away the last campsite, had come this way. However, with no proof to back it up, there was nothing to be done and nowhere to go. Whoever had done this had done their work well. 

The group of five trudged along. At the very least, there was no sign of orcs anywhere, a fact which had persisted throughout the whole journey. The human could tell by the expressions on Elladan and Elrohir's faces that the twins were discussing what to do. Their quite talks had been lost on none of them, even if the human in their midst was the only one who could not hear the quiet murmurings. He wondered what they would finally decide to do. 

Regardless, he was not going back, not until he found what he had been looking for originally, at least. He had that to accomplish still, if nothing else, and he would not be waylaid. Not now. He was already out here and could just continue on. 

He admitted to himself that he had no idea where he would go to continue his search, or what, precisely, he planned to do when it was completed. The human had not quite gotten that far in his plans, and was not sure he should attempt to plan in the first place, being unaware of what it was he faced. He frowned. He did not like this at all. 

Elladan chose that moment to glance back at the human, and frowned. He had known Aragorn long enough to be able to read his expressions most of the time; he recognized this one now. Quickly, he amended his decision. 

The elder twin stopped and called for the attention of his companions. "I think we can safely say that the threat of an Orc attack is gone. Whatever the reason, those foul beasts wander here no long. Taima, Elnour: I wish the two of you to travel back to Rivendell and inform Lord Elrond of what we have found. Elrohir, Strider, and I will remain here and continue our search for the time being." The two elves nodded reluctantly. "Namarie, my friends, and be careful." The two pressed their right hands to their chests while bowing their heads before sweeping their hands out in a gesture of respect. Quickly, the two left. 

Aragorn watched them disappear for only a moment before turning to his adopted brothers, fully expecting what was coming next. 

He was not disappointed. Elladan frowned at him. "Know I did not send you back only because I know how stubborn you are," he warned. "We must still be careful." 

The ranger frowned slightly at the protective tone of his brother's voice, and noticed that Elrohir frowned slightly, too, for he realized all too well what Elladan had just done: he had slighted the human's skills and experience, treating him once again as a child uncapable in his surroundings which Elrond had bid the twins not do. Neither went over well with the man which stood before them. However, testament to his maturity, he did not react as he would have five years ago. 

"Well I know your concern for me, Elladan," he acknowledged evenly, "but such concern is out of place. Indeed it would have done you no good to send me back, for I still have my original assignment to complete. But mind, my brother: I will not stand for being coddled by you. You have not done such recently and it has allowed us to work together well. Do not give me cause to resent your presence." The warning was quite clear, and Aragorn hoped he would not have to repeat it. He had not wanted his brothers with him on this search before and he truly did not relish their presence now, but he was wise enough to realize that since they were present, they would not leave until their human brother did. He raised an eyebrow at the elder elf. 

Elrohir spoke up first. "We do not question your skills, Strider," he assured. "It is just difficult to push aside our concern in the face of the unknown. We would not see you hurt if there was anything we could do to prevent it." He hurried on before the other could protest. "We realize we will not always be able to protect you, but when we are, sometimes our concern for your well-being gets the better of us." Elladan nodded seriously in support of his brother's words. Earning Aragorn's ire would just divide the man's attention as he fought their presence. 

Slowly, Aragorn nodded. He had no great desire to fight with the twins, and so let himself be placated by their words, even as he let their truth sink into his heart. A small smile played about his lips after a moment. "If nothing else I shall be grateful for the addition of your elven senses. Much do my own miss." 

The joke, while true, was an old one, and signaled to the twins the other's acceptance of their presence and veiled apology. Both relaxed slightly. Elladan scanned the horizon. "This mission was yours first," he admitted before turning back to the man. "Whither now shall we go?" 

Aragorn frowned, his own silver gaze scanning the horizon. That was, indeed, the question. The problem: he had no idea. Still . . . whoever it was that erased the orc tracks had to reside somewhere. Apparently, unless both elves and human had missed their presence entirely, they did not often reside in the forest and traveled somewhere else, or at least that was what he chose to tell himself. 

His sight came to rest on the mountains he could just glimpse in the distance. "I think we shall travel east and visit the mountains. Perhaps we will find evidence of this strange presence there." 

The twins nodded, and the three brothers set off in the direction they had come, spreading out from time to time to search the ground in an effort to discover if perhaps they had missed something in their earlier trip. No hint presented itself and the small group camped by a clump of trees with the disappearance of the sun. The moon would not make its appearance for several hours yet, and not even elven eyes could discern any possible signs on the trail before them. Elrohir took up the watch while the other two bedded down. Sleep was slow to come to the ranger, however, and it was many hours before it finally wrapped its clutches around him in a grasp he could no longer shake. 

He woke quickly when Elladan's hand fell on his shoulder to wake him for his watch. The human sat up and nodded to the other, who quietly laid down and folded his hands lightly upon his chest, his eyes quickly becoming unfocused as sleep overtook him. Aragorn quietly moved to a better spot from which to conduct his watch and let his eyes roam the forest. All was peaceful and the gentle sounds of the night floated quietly on the soft breeze. 

Despite the quiet sounds, he still could not quite shake the dread sense that something was not right. No animals had he seen wandering these lands. Not a coney, nor a deer, nor any squirrel that usually populated these forested areas had moved in his vision during any of his treks across the land even after the sounds of the wood had resumed. It disturbed him to no end that no creatures tread these lands, though precisely why it bothered him, he could not name. It spoke of a dread his thoughts were loath to latch onto. 

Still, the quiet hours just before dawn wore away without incident and when morning's first light stretched out to brush the tips of the trees, Aragorn woke the twins from their slumber. Quietly, they continued on and soon reached the first camp though they did not pause, but continued on towards the mountains. 


	5. Lost and Found

Hey hey! I have the next chapter. *all cheer, some less excitedly than others* For those of you who actually care, I post this now because I know without a shadow of a doubt that if I go to bed first, it will not be posted until about noon . . . Today. *frowns at the clock which reads 12:30* Anyway. 

Annoymous reviewers (if any of you have tried to review, found yourself rebuffed, and still continued to read), I have now fixed the problem and would gladly welcome your input. I regret locking you out. I didn't know. I swear I didn't. It somehow escaped my knowledge when I set up my account not so very long ago in the middle of what normal people consider sleeping hours. Me and they don't precisely see eye-to-eye on such matters, but I suspect most of you understand. *g* 

Oh, and I'm making progress on my next story. I have hope that it will actually be finished this summer. And if so, I can step up my posting schedule. *more cheers, enthusiastic and perfunctory* 

Em, on to the next phase of comments:****

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**NaughtyNat:** Ah! I didn't see that! Thank you, thank you! *beams happily* So glad you approve. And Legolas is, unfortunately, not in this one. He's in the sequel which I'm currently writing right now, which is why I only post once a week (to give me plenty of time to finsih the story before I finish posting this one so my wonderful reviewers don't have to wait forever). *g* Oh, and the maturity level is going to start dropping after this next chapter, I think. These were written with the thought in mind that Aragorn was fifty. So, we'll see.****

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**Bill the Pony:** So sorry about the cloning. Maybe next time.Always appreciative of your efforts, though. *g* 

And now the chapter! *many sighs of relief, answered by an unamused glare*****

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**Lost and Found**

Kelt stirred as sunlight touched her face, breaking into the bleary dreams that slipped away without recall as conscious thought returned to the young human. She blinked quickly and scanned her surroundings, noting that nothing had changed, and slightly chagrined to note that it was now a good number of hours past dawn. Her lips pressed together tightly in irritation at herself for her lapse. Shirk would have her hide if he knew she had overslept the dawn. 

The slight being gazed around her and dropped down from the tree she had spent the night in, stretching slightly to relieve cramped muscles. Keen eyes swept the floor to see if anything had been disturbed near her. On silent feet, she moved back towards the camp. 

Before she could enter, she suddenly became aware of soft footsteps approaching quickly. Without pausing, she turned to yet another tree and scaled its branches easily. No sooner was she hidden, than three beings entered the clearing not far from her position and continued across it, heading for the mountains. She frowned slightly; as far as she knew there had been no evidence to point to any. . . . 

Her frown deepened as she realized two of the elves were missing. Where had they gone? Rivendell? She supposed it was possible they would return home if nothing was found to justify their absence. That did not, however, account for the beings that had just passed her hiding place. Though . . . there was the question of why the human had come here in the first place. Could they be continuing that? She had imagined it was to ascertain information on the orcs which had grown more numerous in these parts. She tilted her head slightly to the side as she thought, her head unconsciously turning to keep the group in sight as long as possible. 

She supposed it really did not matter why the other two elves had left, just that they had. Judging by the others' demeanors, she was fairly certain that they would not be returning. That made her job easier. Instead of having to deal with four elves to get to the human, she would only have to deal with two. Still, she had yet to figure out how she was going to extricate the human from their midst. She still did not want to have to fight them. Despite her skills, she was certain she could not take on all of them at the same time, was fairly sure she could not take on even one. This would require careful planning and execution. 

Once the small group had moved out of sight, she dropped out of the tree and landed quietly at its base. Again, she swept the surrounding land before starting off after them, keeping to the left of their heading by ten meters. She was not worried about losing them, and was not ready to catch them, so she paced them, staying just out sight. Keeping to the shadows, she stopped when they stopped and moved when they moved, her lessons in silent moving at the hands of her mother being put to full use as she sought to avoid the detection of elven ears. 

As she followed, she glanced ahead of them to the Misty Mountains, judging their distance. She wondered how Shirk would react to the discovery that the human and his elven companions were heading towards his base. Too close for comfort, Kelt knew the merciless man would determine them a threat and take the elimination out of her hands. Somehow, she had to get to him before they reached the mountains or risk losing her quarry. If he went after the elves, she did not care, but she was almost sure he would go after the human as a lesson to her. That was something she did not want to happen. One, because she would lose her game. Two, because punishment would then fall on her head for failure. She would not be punished for the sake of a human, no matter how skilled. 

Yet she could not attack here. The two elves, identical, would likely not easily be turned aside, and she already had enough problems without adding two more she did not know how to deal with. She would need a plan, and for that she needed time. 

She narrowed her eyes and continued to creep after the unsuspecting entourage. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn stared up at the mountains that towered over the three brothers, tall and majestic in the rising light, their tips sprinkled with snow as winter approached and the temperatures grew colder. They looked peaceful enough, but to his mind, a darkness seemed to cling to them--darkness that had nothing to do with the shadows cast by the sun. 

The human sighed and pushed at his food absently, unable to marshal his thoughts. It had taken nigh on three days to reach their current location, and it would be another day before they reached the foot of the great mountains. Fatigue was clawing at him as the days passed and his sleep was disturbed. The peace and seeming tranquility that surrounded him was almost more unsettling than the strained anticipation that usually heralded an orc or warg attack. That they had come across neither sight nor sound of any creature outside the occasional bird or insects in all the whole area in their many days of travel was beginning to weigh heavily on the Dúnadan's mind. Something was not right; he could sense it. He just could not place what it was. 

He frowned, his fork still tracing idle patterns in his breakfast as he gazed unseeing at the mountains in the distance. 

"Are you going to eat that?" 

Aragorn started slightly and turned to face Elrohir before glancing down at his plate. He offered a sheepish smile before returning to his meal. Yet his thoughts refused to stray from their occupation with the darkness. He tasted not what he ate as he ate automatically, his mind once more far away in disturbed thought and conjecture. 

He had heard many accounts of the attacks which had occurred here, some told by survivors and some conjured by the frightened who had heard rumors. Each one traced through his mind, playing itself out as his imagination filled in detail he had and created what he lacked, allowing each scene to flash behind his eyes and see everything that took place. He was looking for something. What that something was, he could not say. He wished he had more information. 

The last scene played out before his eyes even as he finished his breakfast. Then, released from the task with the ending of his thoughts and the completion of the routine, he stood and crossed to help the elven twins clear camp and get ready to depart again. 

Elladan glanced at the mountains. "We should reach the bottom of the peaks by about this time tomorrow." He glanced back at the two with him. "From there, I do not know." 

"We'll figure it out," Elrohir put in quietly, no more at ease than either of his brothers. A shadow had been growing in the back of their minds, quiet and illusive, but all the more poignant for the fact that it never faded nor grew stronger but simply persisted. It was unlike anything they had felt before, and none could explain it, though the twins thought the sensation might be familiar. 

Without further comment, the trio continued on towards the mountain. Slowly but steadily their peaks grew until the mountains before them filled their entire vision and lest they turn from their path they could not escape it. And still they had yet to reach the mountains that were their destination. 

Suddenly, Elladan stopped. 

"I do not like this," he murmured, looking at neither brother, his dark eyes locked onto the mountain. "Something dark lies here." 

Almost against his will, Elrohir pried his own gaze away from the towering formations of hard and unforgiving rock. "I feel it also brother. Though the evil has not increased." 

"Orcs do not reside here." 

"That is what I read also, brother." 

Aragorn looked between the two, well used to such--at least to him--meaningless babble between them. He felt something, to be sure, but he could not claim he felt what the elves felt, for he had not the slightest idea of what was ailing them. "Then what, if not Orcs?" he asked. 

The elves started, almost as if they forgot the human were still with them, and both turned to look at him with slightly wide eyes. "I know not," Elladan answered. "But we should not be here." 

"And yet we must," the Ranger insisted, knowing--indeed feeling--that this is where he could find his answers. Just inside his perception lingered a darkness, like a hidden threat, one that if it was not brought to the light would be sure to wreak havoc upon all the lands of Middle-earth. Still, he did not understand what he felt, or how he knew this must be so--it would not be the last time--but he did know that he could not turn from this path, nor forsake this journey, any more than he could escape the destiny he had been born into; the one that dogged his steps and darkened his thoughts, forever present, pressing down on his shoulders the weight of a terrible responsibility he was not sure he could endure. "We must." He looked at them. "Do you not feel it?" 

The sons of Elrond glanced at each other before looking again to the young human who had been thrown into their lives so little time ago--by elven standards, at least--and who now stood before them commanding a power they were sure the other was not aware of. There were moments when something greater shined through, when the Dúnadan was determined, usually, though those times were few and far between; a fact which was likely not a bad thing. 

"What we feel is hard to qualify," Elladan answered eventually. 

"This darkness," Elrohir continued the other's thoughts, almost as if they shared one brain, "is threatening. It is not safe." 

"Few places are safe, brother," Aragorn countered. "As leader of my people, and by my heritage, the responsibility I hold, it is my duty to face the danger so the innocent might remain innocent. Do not tell me to turn aware from danger, my friends. It is a futile gesture, for I could no more do so than I can escape my destiny, as you have both informed me time and time again." 

"There is something more to this darkness, Estel," Elrohir hissed. "Something deeper." 

"Something that whispers of dread, that seeks that which should not be found." 

"It would be folly to reveal yourself to the enemy." 

Aragorn stared down the two elves, his course of action already firmly implanted in his mind. "I hear your warnings and I will be careful, but try no more to dissuade me for you will not succeed. I must walk this path, even as I have already walked such paths and will walk others in the future. The only question is if you are to come with me or return to Rivendell." 

"Nay, brother," Elrohir objected. 

Elladan picked up, "That is no question. We would never leave you to such danger out of choice. Know that if you ever have need of us, you have but to call." 

Aragorn clasped his brother's forearm gratefully, his gratitude fully evident in his eyes as Elladan returned the gesture. Elrohir grasped the human's arm as well, though they did not linger long before turning to face the mountains once again. 

"Where do we start?" Elrohir questioned dubiously. "It will take many a day and night to search the entirety of this place. We have not the time, even if we had the inclination." 

"Not together," Elladan agreed. 

"Ai," Aragorn seconded. "We shall have to part ways. We can cover more land separately rather than together." 

Elrohir turned to him horrified. "We can not leave you alone, Strider." 

"'Tis a shame, then, for you cannot stay with me, not if we want to get this done as quickly as possible. I will not leave until I know what haunts this land and drives away the animals." The fervor in his eyes caused the young twin to back down, but Elladan was not so easily swayed. 

"Estel! Do you not understand--" 

"I understand the danger as well as you do," Aragorn interrupted firmly. "Both to myself, and those I am sworn to protect. Do not fight me, Elladan, and let the Shadow win this victory as well!" 

Elladan looked down, a scowl twisting his fair features momentarily as he fought within the same battle of wills that was occurring without. He never wanted to see his human brother hurt. Yet he knew in his heart that he would never be able to keep the other truly safe. The son of Arathorn's fate would not allow it. Finally, he looked back up. "Be careful," he intoned. "Protect your life as you would protect ours, for we could not stand to lose you, Estel." His eyes pierced the Ranger's, begging the man's compliance and assurance that they would yet see each other again, well and whole. 

In the steady silver gaze of the Dunadan, he found what assurance could be given any in dark times: the knowledge that the other would do his best and never give up, that darkness would not claim his soul and if fate permitted, they would meet again on this side of the sea. Elladan nodded, satisfied, if not happy. Elrohir only nodded miserably, knowing with Elladan's acceptance there was nothing more to be said. 

Wordlessly, the three split and slunk quietly and quickly through the remaining cover to the mountains, hoping to remain unnoticed for as long as possible before revealing themselves. Each headed in a different direction with Aragorn traveling further north. A feeling of malicious delight nearly froze him in his tracks, but he forced himself to move on. Similar pauses from the other elves, who were not yet beyond his hearing, told him they had felt it, too, and were choosing to go on. Aragorn nodded and continued. 

He reached the beginning of the mountains and climbed the small incline before dropping down into a dip. He crouched, exploring some of the rocks beneath his feet before moving on. There was nothing there for him to discover. Boulders and other similar obstacles were climbed over or around as the Ranger moved carefully over the terrain, searching for any sign that he was approaching what he searched. He suspected he would find nothing if their lack of success previously was any indication. Whoever had left that trail from the campsite seemed to be a fluke. Yet . . . he still could not shake the feeling that he would find something this day. 

He continued on. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt cursed fiercely as the trio finally reached the foot of the mountains. She had not intended to let them get this far. There would be more than trouble for just the human and his companions if Shirk got wind of this. She hoped desperately that the Slyntari were not watching; she wanted the human. If they learned of her failure to keep them away from the mountains, they would take her sport from her. 

She frowned as she saw them stop, looking ill at ease, and begin their discussion. She crept forward softly, intending to deal with the human now, whether the elves then learned of her or not. She could not allow them to get closer; they were already too close. Yet she paused, parts of their hushed conversation floating to her keen ears on the slight breeze. 

Some instinct cautioned her to stillness, to patience, and once again she listened, though impatience pressed at her, demanding she act. Luckily, it was not long before they started walking again. Only this time, they were not all traveling the same direction. Each chose a different path. A feral smile split her lips. This was what she had been waiting for. Now was the time to act. 

She abandoned following the path already trod and circled around, attempting to get ahead of the human. She would surprise him. Yes, now the game would begin. The human was hers. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Deep in the tunnels, several dark figures stood together, a single torch providing the only illumination for the relatively small cavern. A youngish looking figure stood before the group of elder beings who glared, their expressions fierce and unrelenting. The youth quaked slightly, desperately wishing he was anywhere else. 

"You are sure?" inquired a voice that was cold and hard as steel but betrayed no real emotion. 

"Y-yes, my lord. A human and two elves search the mountains. They arrived not long ago." 

Another spoke up, a woman this time, though her voice was the same as the other's. "You think it is the same human Kelt was to take care of." 

"Obviously, she needs another lesson," he declared. "This one, she shall not forget." 

Smiles, if indeed they could be called such, graced the features of each individual in the room--save the messenger--and twisted their faces, warping them into a parody of the humor and joy that a smile usually conveyed. 

Quickly, the messenger left the room released from his duty, shivers chasing up and down his spine. Dark eyes followed his retreat. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Rocks skittered down quickly, bouncing and clacking as they raced for the bottom of the ravine. Aragorn froze and glanced back guiltily at having made so much noise and possibly given away his position. He had not fully realized how crumbly his chosen course was until he was halfway up its side, high enough to make going back delicate but too far away to wholly justify continuing on to the top. He kept going, however, for he had glimpsed something atop the rise that piqued his interest and he knew not another way to reach it. 

Silence followed as the small stones reached the bottom, a silence nothing disturbed, and the ranger began to hope that his slip had not been noticed. He returned his climbing, taking more care this time on where he placed his hands and feet. Somehow he reached the top without further incident--a feat that would have impressed his brother's had they been present to witness it. 

He stood on the top, roughly sixty feet higher than the surrounding area--not truly a significant distance--and looked out over the forests that he was high enough to see over and observed the beauty of the realm. Lush green grasslands extended as far as his eyes could see to the west and he knew that somewhere, further than even elven eyes could pierce, lay The Shire where the hobbits kept their peace; which dragged a smile onto his face. Trees tapered off into the distance, some standing alone like silent sentinels away from their brethren, slumped or straight, thick or thin, tall or slumped, but all standing silent and unmoving. 

The man could just glimpse the sparkle of light off water in the distance and knew it to be a small pond he had once chanced upon some years ago while wandering in the Wild. To the north, the Misty Mountains continued for many miles before curving west and stood tall and silent, unforgiving and majestic, though they could not lay claim to the same deceptive beauty that graced their southern kin. He looked to the south and thought he could just mark where Rivendell would be. A smile split his lips until movement caught his eye. 

He frowned and focused his attention where he had caught the slight fluctuation. Nothing presented itself to his gaze. The Dúnadan scanned the area carefully before returning his attention to that single glade. Something was there, he was sure of it. He stepped to the side, moving carefully along the edge. 

Not carefully enough. 

The stone upon which he stood gave way and dropped quickly from beneath his feet. A strangled cry of surprise was wrenched from his lips as his eyes widened. He tried to step backwards, but never made it and dropped just as quickly as the gray stone around him, sliding down some parts and free falling in others, bumped and bruised on his way down. Luckily he fell only thirty-six feet, though that was by no means a small distance, and Aragorn realized it could have been much worse. 

He stopped quickly as he reached the bottom, his remaining air forced from his lungs at the impact, and the dust that was roused choking him and sending him into a coughing fit that did nothing for his tortured lungs. Bright spots danced briefly before his eyes before disappearing quickly once he actually managed the task of drawing air into his lungs. 

The ranger sat quietly for a few moments, attempting to bring his racing heart back under control and clear his head, which he now noticed throbbed painfully. He vaguely remembered striking a rock on the way down and hoped he did not have a concussion. He had enough experience with those to know he had no desire to gain more. 

Gingerly, the man stood and looked around. He appeared to be in a dip of some kind and boulders stood to either side of him, closing him in their midst and hindering his escape from the area. Apparently, they had also halted his descent of the other twenty-four feet he had scaled. 

"How to get out," he murmured softly, annoyed enough to think aloud and not expecting a response. Thus, he jumped slightly when he received one. 

"Perhaps I could help with that." He looked up to see two clear blue eyes staring down at him out of a young face, just a touch of mirth dancing in their depths. A girl, his startled mind provided, though what she was doing in these desolate lands he could not say. "Need a hand, kind sir?" 

He glanced around with a nod. "Assistance would be greatly appreciated, my lady, if you would be so kind as to fetch it." 

She smiled brightly down at him. "A moment." She disappeared from view and he could hear quick and quiet footsteps moving a short distance away. Sounds of what could have been a person riffling through a pack reached his ears and he frowned slightly as he wondered what the young one might be doing. The sounds from above moved towards the rock face before disappearing and then a rope was tossed down to him and the girl peered at him over the edge once again. "You can climb, can you not?" she inquired with a hint of amusement in her clear voice. 

He offered her a mirthless smile and grabbed the rope. Her gaze followed his progress with a slight frown until he neared the top, when she pulled back, maintaining a slight distance. The Dúnadan felt that she was hovering (well used to the tactic from his brothers), granting him space to accomplish his task on his own but near enough to help if he should falter. 

The thought gave him pause and he wondered at it, for the girl could be no older than twenty. He pushed the thought away and concentrated on gaining the landing and firm stone beneath his feet. 

"You surprised me," she announced once he had gained his feet as she moved to retrieve her rope from where she had tied it. "Not many people live this far out and it has been long since I last encountered one. Surely you would know these lands are unstable so close to the mountains? The tunnels seem to have worn away from below and the sun beats down from above. Are you well?" 

Suspicion had edged his thoughts when she had appeared, but he found them mostly disappearing, melting away much like snow in the summer heat. It helped, of course, that his head was spinning. "I am well," he assured. 

"Men," she murmured with a shake of her head. "It is amazing how similar you all are, but alas, 'twould be folly to assume different. You all seem to desire making light of your ills and ails, even when simply admitting the momentary weakness could make so much more later unnecessary." She moved back to a small pack settled near a boulder and seated herself on it as she returned the rope to the pack and delved in it once again. She glanced up and waved him over. "Let me see to that cut on your head, kind sir, whether you be ill or not, and mayhap the fates will look more kindly upon you and spare you further hurt!" Amusement sparkled in her bright eyes and he found himself responding in kind as he moved and sat before her, crossing his legs before himself, and she shifted forward to get at his head. 

He wondered at her. Her looks would have him think her a child, and yet her words betrayed an age and experience he had a hard time attributing to a youth. Indeed, her words hinted at a hard life he would wish on no one so young as her, though that was something he was not sure how he came upon, as her voice was light and held no hint of trials. And even had she suffered, he realized the times were dark. Still, it raised the question of why she was here. 

"Have you experienced this personally?" he inquired quietly as she gently and expertly cleaned his forehead of blood and dirt. "Surely you are too young to have experienced such hardships." 

Her eyes were distant as she continued to silently clean his small injury; clouded with what memory, he could not tell. He was about to ask her pardon when she spoke. "Much has the opportunity to happen in these days, whether we will or no. I imagine many have experienced more than they would." 

"What happened?" 

"It is not important," she replied with a quick shake of her head, her gaze abruptly returning to the moment, and she quickly secured a bandage over the wound. "Is there any other injury you might have seen fit to overlook?" she inquired archly, deftly changing the subject. 

He allowed the switch and shook his head. "Nay, lady. I seem to have been fortunate this time and suffered only this small bump to my head." 

She smiled. "That is well." 

"What calls one so young so far from everything?" he questioned, trying to figure her out, for she was puzzling to his still aching head. 

"One will go where one must go," she replied, her smile becoming somewhat sad. "We must do what we are told." 

He nodded, aware, suddenly, that she had yet to truly answer one of his questions. Vague suggestions were all she had offered, and yet he could not fault her, for they were delicate issues he had called up. 

And yet, the unease that had departed made another grasp at his heart. She was hiding something. He was sure of it, but what? He pushed those concerns aside and determined to get to know the young one better. He smiled slightly. "Might I know your name?" he inquired. 

She laughed, a musical sound that seemed to sit odd on her shoulders, like she had not laughed much in all of her short years. "I doubt you would know it," she told him. 

That response elicited a wider smile from the ranger. "Indeed. What might I call you, my lady?" 

There was a beat of silence, then, "Kalyamuina." 

"A pleasure to meet you, Kalyamuina," he replied, intrigued. Kalyamuina, hidden light. Who would have given this one an elvish name? She was human, clearly, as she did not possess the graceful pointed ears of the elves. He was fairly certain he would know if there had been another human child accepted into the family of another elf. "I am Strider," he told her, "Ranger of the north." 

Something akin to surprise flashed through her eyes nearly too quickly to mark before pleasure pushed it aside. "No indeed, it is my pleasure to meet you, Strider. I have never met a Ranger before," she concluded, giving him an odd look that again made him pause. 

"You may wish that remained true before long, lady, for I am told trouble follows me everywhere." 

She glanced up at the landing he had fallen from. "I dare say you speak truly, Ranger, though I think you may underestimate the case, if this sort of thing happens to you often." 

He followed her gaze up. "Nay, I do not often have opportunity to fall from cliffs," he denied. "More often my trouble arrives in the form of orcs." 

"Oh!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "No orcs around here." With that she stood and began walking away. He stared after her for a moment before also gaining his feet and following her. No orcs? Since when? He frowned as those questions shot his unease up another notch. What was this one not telling him? He feared he would not like the answer when he got it. 

If he had known how right he would be, perchance he would have turned the other way and not followed her, but he did not know, and curiosity has always been a bane among all peoples, be they men, elves, or dwarves. 


	6. Disaster Strikes

Hey hey! I got five reviews that chapter! I'm so excited! *giggles* Pathetic, but there you go. The next chapter rolls around the bend and into your rooms to entertain and astonish. At least, I hope that's the effect that is accomplished. 

In case any of you are actually wondering how long this story is, I'm gonna tell you. It has fifteen chapters. I've known this since before I started posting; please forgive me for not informing you sooner. It's a gotta-leave-you-in-suspense-thing, and I decided to change my mind concerning that particular detail.****

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**Tori:** Oh thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it so much. I have to wonder if you'll feel the same way after reading the next...eight chapters. *blinks thoughtfully*Badies, in my opinion, are always interesting to write. You never know how they will turn out. My own groupies? Lol. Ooh. *chuckles*I don't know about that, but I thank you for your optimism. Welcome to Limbo, where you can see but not touch. 

**Bumper:** Hey! I'm glad you're glad. Really glad, since I like knowing people actually _enjoy_ what I write. It adds a whole knew level of pleasure and satisfaction. The ones responsible...is actually an interesting subject. You may or may not, and I'm gonna guess not, but satisfied with the answer you receive here. But an answer, you will receive. ****

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**Bill the Pony:** Oh no! How terrible! *pauses, unsure of level of seriousness* Glad it's recovered enough to allow you to enjoy my story.Really glad. I'm constantly afraid, I'm going to get to a chapter and nobody's going to like it and everybody's gonna leave. *looks thoughtful* Maybe that's why I put Aragorn through--*coughs* Well, you'll see.****

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**NaughtNat:** The oddest thing: I got on and looked at my reviews. Lo and behold! I had 13 instead of 12, and the first thought that popped into my head--I bet it's NaughtNat. Lol. I'm serious. Glad the idea of a sequel with Leggy strikes your fancy. I'm currently working on chapter 13, and it's not quite cooperating. *smiles* Yes, rangers: get their butts kicked and come back for more. Lol. 

**Tereza:** Hello! I'm so glad you approve! I aim to please. *thinks back to the chapters that are undergoing slight changes* Really. *g* lol. I'm glad you like the descriptions. I'm always afraid I'm gonna go into too much detail. I'm so excited. *dances a litte* lol. 

Well, well, and onto the next chapter. I hope I didn't forget anything in my revisions. Oh, lol, you guys are so lucky: I'm posting it a whole two--three . . . Four?--hours early. Lol. 

Enjoy!****

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**Disaster Strikes**

Kelt turned and headed further up the mountains away from where she had seen the twin sons of Elrond disappear to, circling around subtly so as not to betray her presence to the ranger, Strider. 

As she walked, she failed to note the particular beauty of the day, the crumbling landscape under her--at least not any more than was required to keep from taking a trip similar to the human's--nor the slight breeze that was blowing long strands of her slightly disheveled hair into her face. The Slyntari was too busy berating herself to have any mind to worry about such details. Why in all of Arda had she told the Ranger her given name, her elven name? Of all the stupid things she could have done, that was truly one of the most foolish. 

_Why didn't I just kill him when I had the chance?_

She turned her attention to what was going on behind her when she caught the sounds of more rocks skittering down the sides to lower altitudes, the shower of rocks creating enough noise to echo vaguely through the landscape. 

The young woman frowned and was tempted to tell the man to be more careful 'less he bring the enemy down on top of them but bit her tongue. If she did that, she would be admitting to the presence of an enemy that was not orcs, and that was forbidden among the Slyntari, punishable by death. No one outside of the group could know of their existence. There were still those in Middle-earth who would know the significance of their presence and they could not risk being discovered, their plans thwarted. 

Not that Kelt had any real fear that such discovery would do anything. Men were weak and of no true concern to them, except in large numbers. Dwarves were even less concern than men. Then there were the elves, but the elves did not concern themselves with the affairs of men. No love was lost between the different races, though some habitually got along with each other better than others. 

Despite the skittering, though, nothing changed, and the ranger seemed to have kept his balance. Satisfied that the human was not about to take yet another plunge down the cliff-side, she returned to her attention before her, only to have it drawn back again. 

"Where are we going?" Strider asked. 

_I should just kill him now_, she thought. "To a safe place," she said instead. "You can eat and rest there." Kelt offered no more. 

It was harder than she had thought it would be to play with this one. There was something about him, or something in her, that kept begging for the truth to be spoken--the whole truth. It confused and irritated her, forcing her to pay attention to every word out of her mouth lest she reveal information that should not be spoken. Damn the Númenorean blood. She would be pleased to wipe out the last remnants of that ancient people. They were a plague upon Middle-earth. 

"Do you live here alone?" 

"Does it matter?" she replied, perhaps a bit harsher than she should have, for the young woman realized as soon as the words left her mouth that they would only pique this one's interest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in a bid for calm, and managed to at least partially attain it. She waited to see what response the Ranger would give. 

"It may," was the quiet reply. "I find it sad to think of one so young alone in these unforgiving mountains." 

_He lies_, part of her hissed vehemently while the other wavered dangerously. The result was that Kelt nearly lost her balance. She frowned. _Pay attention, you dolt. If you mess this up, it won't matter if he lies. You'll be dead._ A small smile over her shoulder in apology and she continued on. The quiet, cautious footsteps of the other followed her up the slope. 

When she offered no further comments, the Ranger seemed to decide to hold his silence. This decision confused her, but she did not question it, deciding that some things were best left unquestioned. She had him; now all she had to do was kill him. As soon as they reached her chosen destination, the Ranger was a dead man. She would tolerate no further delays to her plans. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elladan looked up quickly from a rock formation he had been studying. He took in the clear blue sky and westering sun, the clear air and mild temperatures, and narrowed his eyes. Nothing had stirred since they had entered this part of Middle-earth, yet it somehow seemed quieter now than when they had arrived. 

The elder twin stepped away from the base of the mountains and glanced to the north in the direction his two brothers had traveled. No signs of distress caught his eyes and he reluctantly went back to his investigations, searching diligently for any sign of any creature which might have passed by recently. 

Gradually, and without his knowledge, he was heading further south. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The silence of the mountains was nearly complete, broken only on occasion by the odd skittering rock that quickly and without undue hesitation made its way to the bottom of the inclines that stretched high above towards the clear sky. Any creatures that had remained in the Ettenmoors near the mountains had long since gone quiet, recognizing all too well the darkness that was pressing in upon the mountains. 

The only movement to be caught upon the mountains' peaks were lithe and slippery shadows that seemed to waver in the bright light from the sun. Inconsistent and insubstantial, they flickered in an out of existence as they converged on a certain point in the northern mountains; the world held its breath. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn stopped suddenly, an odd feeling tingling up from the base of his spine and causing him to shudder helplessly, like a chill wind had blown or a cold finger had traced its way up his spine. He glanced back and focused intently on his surroundings, hoping to find the cause for his unease. 

The ranger was almost positive he was being watched, and he wondered what it was that could possibly be watching him. He shook his head slightly, attempting to clear it. _There's no one out here but yourself, your brothers and the girl,_ he tried to tell himself. 

Still, the feeling persisted, and he had long grown used to trusting his instincts. He was slightly startled when he felt Kalyamuina suddenly appear at his elbow, her own form tense. "What's wrong?" she murmured. 

He glanced at her and caught her intense, sharp gaze, receiving an uncomfortable feeling that she could see straight through him. For some reason, some thing told him to be honest with her, though he could find no real reason why that should be strange. "I feel like someone is watching us," he replied quietly, and just barely caught the extra sharp look that was momentarily directed at him in surprise before it vanished as quickly as it had come. 

"Nonsense," she denied. "No one is here. Who could be watching?" She frowned into the distance, whether she found something odd or not he could not tell, but he did not have the chance to think about it for she had grabbed his arm and proceeded to pull him further away. "All will be well, but we should keep moving. You could probably use something to eat, after all." 

Somewhat confused, the Dúnadan followed reluctantly behind the young woman he did not understand. She was a conundrum he could not even begin to puzzle out, a situation not helped at all by the fact that she was unwilling to talk. He narrowed his eyes as he followed her retreating form, puzzling out what he knew. 

He knew she had denied any suggestion of other beings occupying any region of the Ettenmoors, even though he knew orcs had been here not so long ago. He knew she had startled at his pronouncement that they were being watched. He knew that she had appeared at an opportune time, and that contrary to the caution his mind intimated, his heart and instincts were telling him to trust her. He was also fairly certain she was troubled. 

When he had first seen her, Kalyamuina's walk had been old-fashioned, somewhat jerky, as one accustomed to picking their way across uneven terrain while carrying a weighted load, like a basket. Now, though, she moved almost as a warrior, with a peculiar, lethally smooth gait that was easily recognized by any other trained to fight or knowledgeable in the craft. Also, every so often he would catch a note of forced levity in her tone, as if she really desired to be anything but cheerful. 

Aragorn did not understand it at all; if his mind and common sense screamed at him with everything it had that she was false, dangerous, why were his instincts so driven on telling him to trust her? He had met enough people over the years to know that many were not always what they seemed, and he had become a fairly good judge of character over the lengthy years of his chosen exile, yet he could place no definite loyalty on this girl, no hint of who she was. 

The Ranger's train of thought was broken when the youth suddenly stopped before a fairly deep hollow in the mountain side which provided fair shelter while the snows had fled for the warmer months, but that would provide little protection in the face of the blizzards which regularly swept through the area. 

Kalyamuina stopped just outside the hollow and turned to face him, her hands clasped before her. "Is there anything you would like me to get you? Some tea, perhaps." 

"Tea would be much appreciated," he agreed, somewhat warily. He crept forward and idly watched her make the brew. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he watched because he was wary of poison, though he caught no sign of any unwarranted additions during his rather unprofessional watch. The quiet process, however, seemed to put the both of them very much at ease, and the tension that had built in Aragorn at the feeling of being watched melted partially away. 

Carefully, he moved his sword out of the way and lowered himself to the ground, wincing as he did so, and hoped Kalyamuina had not noticed; he did not care to be fussed over, and he had a feeling she may. But there was no halt in the other's preparations, so he assumed the moment of weakness had not betrayed him in any way. 

His mind drifted back to the last time he had been in a cave even as his gaze drifted out over the Ettenmoors that spread before him from his perch. He sighed quietly. 

Then was startled when a mug was suddenly placed in his hands. Startled gray eyes turned to fix on the young woman by his side, and found her once again pouring the hot, colored liquid into a cup. Somehow, he had missed the completion of the tea. He frowned briefly as he wondered if the drink was safe, or if this strange female might have doctored it. 

Deciding he was being paranoid, he took a sip, then leaned his head back against the stone wall behind him as the heat traveled down his throat and settled in his stomach before continuing on to suffuse his stomach with a warm glow. Moments later he felt some of the pain from stiff and abused muscles ease and realized she had indeed added something to his drink: a pain relieving herb. 

One corner of his mouth quirked; so she _had_ seen his discomfort. That, or she had simply assumed he would be in pain after his fall, an assumption that was obviously not wrong. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

Then something strange caught his attention and he frowned. It was a smell, but a smell he could not place, just barely carried to him by the wind. Somehow, though, he felt it was a smell that should not be present. 

"Do you smell any thing?" he questioned his new companion. 

Bright blue eyes turned to study him critically. "Smell what?" 

He shook his head briefly. "I'm not sure." 

The girl frowned at him before closing her and tilting her head, her shoulders rising and falling slowly as her breathing deepened. He was struck by the feeling that this was something she had done before, locating scents on a breeze, but then the feeling was gone and he could not imagine why he had felt it. 

Slowly, the blue orbs opened to once again focus on him; undeniable, unreadable emotion hidden in their depths, though he just barely caught a hint of confusion also before it was firmly chased aside. "I smell something," she agreed after a moment. "But I would not venture a guess as to what. Likely it is not anywhere near us." Yet something in her stance denied those simple words. 

Again the ranger wondered what this young one was hiding, why she could not simply tell him the truth. It was frustrating him more than he would admit even to himself that he could not tell if trusting her was not going to be more dangerous than anything else he had ever done. Nothing leant itself to the argument of trust for this strange being; nothing, that is, save his instincts. 

Forcefully, he bit back a sigh and watched her closely. 

Almost immediately, her gaze flickered back to meet his own, and was just as quickly averted. "Why do you stay here," he asked after a few moments, "if you are the only one who remains?" 

Her attention returned to him--if, indeed, it had ever strayed from him. To the ranger, however, it appeared as though she was not looking at him, but through him. 'Twas an odd feeling to think that when she had not been looking at him she had been watching him, but now that she _was_ looking at him she was not seeing him. That haunted look he had noted earlier returned to her eyes, clouding them briefly. He wondered what it meant. 

She answered slowly, as if she had never given thought to her motives before. "Sometimes . . . sometimes we are not the ones who choose our path but instead follow the one laid out before us. And sometimes that path leads down lonely trails. My path comes here. And, for the moment at least, here is where it remains." 

"Such wisdom for one so young," he murmured with a hint of a smile. The words touched his own heart, whispering truth and wrapping about his mind. He knew that had Elrond heard those words, or even Elladan or Elrohir or Legolas, they would have claimed that they also held true for him, for anyone. Even he had to admit to the truth that echoed through the sentiment. "Fortitude also. It will serve you well, I think." 

The briefest of smiles touched her lips before fleeing. "And you, Strider? Why came you here?" 

"I seek someone," he replied. 

"Someone you know?" she questioned, then took a sip of her own tea, vibrant eyes watching him over the rim of the cup. 

"No," he chuckled. "I think not. 

"How will you know you have found this person?" 

He was mildly surprised she had not asked who he was seeking, not that it would have done her any good; he still did not know himself. "I will know," was the only reply he gave. 

She snorted. "Yes, of course you will know." Shrewd eyes were leveled at him. "Twould be unpardonable for a Ranger to mistake so important a factor as the arrival of his quarry." 

"You know of the Rangers?" he asked, interested in what this one might know of those ancient people which were generally regarded with much fear among the other members of his race, and which he was a part of. 

"I know they are not to be feared as some seem to think," she responded, her eyes widening ever so slightly as if in surprise. "Unless, that is, you get on their bad side, and then you would do well to steer clear of them." 

He laughed. "I suppose you could view it that way." 

"Could you tell me more of them?" 

"I could," he answered wryly, a touch of old playfulness sparked inside him. 

Mischief briefly touched the other's gaze. "That is well," she responded, deadpan, "for it would not speak well of the people if their own could not tell of themselves." With that said, the young woman jumped up and walked to the cliff's edge, looking out upon the lands surrounding them. More slowly, he followed her, taking in his surroundings once again. 

Carefully, she picked her way across some of the rockier outcroppings before coming to stand on a stone ledge that greatly resembled a pedestal. Again, he followed the slight form and joined her looking out. 

Without turning to acknowledge his presence, she spoke. "When you look out, what do you see?" 

His gaze scanned the horizon before he spoke, his hand unconsciously coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. Had he been aware of it, had she turned to look, she would have seen how very kingly he looked, but she did not, and no one saw. 

"I see life, flowing, continuing, enduring. It reminds me that even when there is death, the world goes on. Somehow, that makes the darkness easier to bear, because when the light of life flees one's soul, it is picked up and born on by another." He glanced at her. "What do you see?" 

"Life, too," she admitted. "But it is a world I cannot touch, distant, forever beyond my reach, even as it continues on beyond my sight." She turned and looked at him. "I see beauty and hope, and it is easier to continue, even if I am not the one to experience such things. It is enough to know they are there, waiting, if one would but make the effort to reach them." 

He nodded, and though sadness touched his heart at the words, his attention had been grabbed by something else. His keen gaze swept the formations around him, looking for what could have caused his unease to return with a vengeance. 

He found nothing and turned to face the one before him. If Kalyamuina felt anything, she gave no sign. Her eyes were still distant, her posture slightly slumped, as if the very words of hope she had spoken had no hold over her, and her hand idly played with a length of her tunic. To his eyes, she looked tired, no longer young, but old; older than anyone her age should ever look. 

Along with his renewed unease also came the reawakened feeling of being watched. He listened closely, trying to hear what his eyes would not see. He could hear his companion's breathing, slow and quiet, and the whistle of the wind over rock, but he could find no other trace through the air of another living being. 

Despite this, suddenly all he wanted to do was to get away. They needed to leave this place. He was sure of it. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Shirk smiled grimly as he crouched behind a boulder, watching the young woman who was a member of his group. He could tell she was unaware of his presence, unaware of the presence of anyone, for he recognized the look that graced her nearly flawless features. Too often she became absorbed in her own thoughts to the detriment of everything else. It was a folly she could not afford, not and not pay the price. 

He turned his attention to the one who stood beside her, noting the other's nervous glances to his surroundings. This one knew something and he frowned. Something was familiar about him, but he refused to be distracted as his subordinate had. Whether she was paying attention or not, Kelt should have noted his restless movements at least. Obviously, she needed a bigger wake up call than he had originally thought. 

Moving slowly so as not to gain the attention of the excited man standing just out of view, the Slyntari removed a vial of yellowish liquid. He removed the lid and poured a generous dose of it over the head of the arrow he had removed from his quiver. The poison coated its glistening tip and created a different kind of shine, one that soon vanished as the tip seemed to absorb the substance he had added. No one would know to look at it that the arrow had been poisoned. 

The smile returned to the twisted face of the tall man. Ice blue eyes fixed on the young woman who beheld so much without even seeing it. She would learn her place, and the poison would help. That one knew what if could do, and she would recognize its bite. It had helped to tame her before; a second dose could only help. 

Carefully, the Slyntari notched the arrow and took aim, moving out from the shelter of the boulder just enough to gain a clear shot at his intended victim. He pulled the string back and waited for just the right moment. 

He watched as she turned to face the human, her expression lost to his view. If the human turned his head about an inch, he would be looking straight at the Slyntari, but Shirk was not worried. The human was no concern of his, not yet. That one would be dealt with after Kelt had received her punishment. He released the arrow, only to feel surprise course through his veins when the human dodged around the youth and took the arrow in his own chest, shoving her out of the way. Surprise danced quickly over her features and momentarily froze her to her spot. 

Furious, he pulled another arrow and aimed it this time at the man. The other shot had not been lethal, and the poison would not kill him either. He had changed his mind. He would kill the human, then teach the careless girl. 

Quickly, he released this arrow as well. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt turned just in time to watch the arrow intended for her strike Strider in the chest and knock him back a little more than a step. Shock locked her in place. Why had he done that? Just as quickly, though, she realized the danger was far from over. 

Her quick eyes caught sight of movement and she identified Shirk as the one who had shot the arrow. Fury followed quickly on the heels of surprise as thoughts of the human were momentarily erased from her mind. 

He had followed her. He had thought to shoot her. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, her expression full of a fury that had sent many a servant of Sauron skittering for cover. 

She saw the second arrow Shirk pulled, and tracked its intended target. She knew immediately that the other was shooting to kill. Without conscious thought, she moved up close behind the other and pulled him away, pressing both of them up against a boulder and away from Shirk's line of fire. The arrow he had released missed them by barely two feet. 

She frowned, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he would not be the only one here. There would be at least one more, far from his position, ready to act upon their leader's failure. It frustrated her that she could not find whoever was with Shirk, and bothered her more than she cared to admit. 

The young woman turned to gaze into the eyes of the one who had pushed her out of the way. His silver eyes were glazed with pain yet still aware. Her ire pushed itself to the forefront and she snapped at him, part of her fury leaking out in her words. 

"You fool!" she hissed. "You stupid fool! What were you thinking?" 

He blinked twice, then murmured, "They would have shot you." 

"Not to kill," she shot back. "I was safer than you, for they will not kill me. You just took my punishment, Ranger, and now you've marked yourself a dead man." She turned back to her surroundings. She would not be careless twice. 

Again, she just barely caught the small movement and glint of an arrowhead, her highly trained gaze marking its path and again moving them out of its way just before it could strike them. She pulled Strider along one of the mountain paths, intent on getting away with her new charge and protecting him from her fellows' anger, though she could not determine why she should care. Things were moving too quickly, though, and she had not the time to question. 

Too late, she realized the danger of her chosen path. Too far upon it to turn back, she had barely enough time to glance at the human before the ground opened up beneath them and sent them tumbling down into dark depths that seemed to stretch on endlessly below. 

Strider was torn from her grasp as they fell, stones chasing them down with some managing to overtake them, and her stomach leaped into her throat. A gasp was torn from her throat as the brush of their passage screamed past. 

She blinked, wondering how far down the darkness reached, wondering how long before their journey ended, and how long before they were caught by her people. She wondered briefly what they would do when they could no longer evade capture and whether or not this fall would kill them and save the remaining Slyntari the trouble. She wondered, too, why she had bothered to save the human. A thought crossing her mind that she would have done better to simply let Shirk kill him. Likely it would have been less painful. Then she questioned why she should care if it was less painful. 

Her brow furrowed in agitation as thoughts and counter-thoughts raced through her head. Breifly her gaze caught cloth falling near her and knew it to be the ranger. 

Then she wondered no more. Solid rock collided with her hurtling form and drove the wind from her body, even as that same form collided with her head and sent sparks of light arcing across her vision though she felt no pain. A moment later, she felt nothing. The darkness of unconsciousness had claimed her, and she no longer had a care for anything. 


	7. Stuck in Shadows

"Don't do anything stupid." 

*points pistol at side of head while standing on the side of a boat and holding onto a rope* "I'm William Turner. If you don't cooperate I'll blow a whole in my head, disappear into the ocean and leave you to rot in your curse." (Something to that effect, at least) 

*winces* "Like that." 

*squeals happily* I saw Pirates of the Carribean last night. Oh, Orlando is soooo cute as a pirate. *jumps up and down excitedly* Johnny Dep isn't too bad, either. My friend has dubbed him sexy and I can't find any grounds to refute her on. So lucky us to have two fine men to watch kick the stuffing out of the bad guys. Lol. I wanna see it again. Cute Orlando. Simply love his expressions. 

Okay, okay. I'm done gushing. *stares off into the distance with a vaguely dreamy expression . . . Shakes head sharply* Sorry. Here be the next chapter. It's late because no matter what I did, I could not get ff.net to cooperate with me. *breaks into hysterical tears* It wouldn't listen to me! I kept saying I wanted to visit and it shut me out! It shut me out! It doesn't love me any more! *laughs a little* Oh, as if. Ff.net doesn't _love_ anyone. 

Ah, well, the good thing--the only good thing--about a late post is that you don't have to wait as long for the next post. 

Well, now that I've made myself feel better and forget how bloody nervous I am about posting the rest of this story, you can get on to reading it, right after these words to my precious reviewers:****

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**Bill the Pony:** You mean I did it right! *jumps happily, then stops abruptly* I mean, so sorry. *tries not to look guilty and fails* I really was not trying to scare people. Too much. 

**NaughtyNat:** Hope you did all right with that project thingy I know nothing of. *g* Hm, well. It could be worse. Really. It could. Whether or not it will get worse . . . You'll have to read to find out. *evil grin* 

**Grumpy:** Ooh! Cookies! Here, here. *shows rest of story* Do you share? Lol. As for who's after who . . . All will be made clearer soon, I promise. I'm afriad to explain lest I give away more than necessary and ruin al the wonderful surprises. 

Now, I think I may be glad I can't remember what happens next. . . . ****

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**Stuck in Shadows**

Kelt came to awareness quickly, and immediately wished she had not. Searing pain sent sunbursts off before her eyes, disturbing the darkness and further hindering her vision. The floor seemed to spin under her and she wondered how that was possible since she was sitting down and could feel easily enough that the ground was not moving. She frowned slightly, then mentally shook her head, knowing the real action would bring swift reprisal down on her head when her body protested. 

She was fairly certain she had a mild concussion and a few bruised or cracked ribs. Her shoulder was wrenched from trying to hold onto the ranger. Blood moved sluggishly down the side of her head, alerting her to a small cut on her forehead. Aside from that, she merely ached, a fact she was quite thankful for even if she had no knowledge of how far they had dropped. The stones that had fallen with them had been cause for concern. 

Plus, now that she was more aware, she knew of another reason for concern: she had lost the ranger; and he was injured. She cursed and forced herself to move, long experience allowing her to ignore the pain that pulled at her, threatening to take away her awareness. She ignored it, knowing she had to find Strider or it could be too late. 

She snorted, pausing as the world spun. She should have killed him before Shirk even had a chance to do anything. Now, she was stuck. She had already taken irreversible steps in her efforts to save this one's life; now she was as good as dead, also. 

Carefully feeling before her, the girl felt along the floor, searching for another body in the rubble. It took several long minutes, but she breathed a cautious sigh of relief once she located the other's body; one part of the difficulty over, she ran her hands along the still form in an attempt to determine its orientation. She had to figure out what position he was in before she even dreamed of taking any action. The young woman found Strider's head and traced down his neck to look for a pulse. Initially relieved to have found one, she was distressed to find it erratic. 

In the dark, she shook her head and searched down the Ranger's body looking for injuries and hoping desperately that he had not ruptured anything, for there would be nothing she could do about it, even had she been able to see. As best she could tell, his left arm was dislocated and he had a few broken or cracked ribs, likely three, but was otherwise unharmed--aside from the arrow. It was the arrow that worried her the most, however, and she knew that regardless of readiness, the pair had to leave the area or it would not matter what shape they were in. 

Neither of them had any supplies, and that was ill for it deprived them of both needed water and medical supplies. Kelt moved slowly away from the Ranger, still searching the floor. She knew there was wood around these shafts, possibly former supports that had been discarded or which had broken and continued the cave-ins that periodically occured--not that she knew or cared so long as she found it--and was soon rewarded for her efforts. A fair-sized stick came to hand and she quickly ripped some cloth from the bottom of her pants, tying them and wrapping them around one end of the stick. The more difficult task came in lighting the makeshift torch, which surprised her by lighting on only the second attempt, flaring sudden light through the tunnel and causing her head to throb in protest. It was a couple moments before the pain subsided enough for her to see. 

In the flickering light, she turned once again to the human who lay motionless beside her. It eased her mind and heart a little to discover that there did not appear to be any grievous injuries that she had missed in the dark (though she could not work out why she should care if there were--he was a ranger, for pity's sake!). 

She glanced around, attempting to determine which direction would be the best way. There were three tunnels to choose from and she frowned slightly, trying to decide which way to go from any hint around her, desperately grasping for any memories she had of this place from her tour of the area. 

Hesitant, blurry images came to mind and seemed to council the leftmost passage. She had sequestered supplies down one tunnel, she simply had to remember which one it was. Strider's life could depend on her decision. 

She frowned, catching herself once again worried about the infuriating man. It was her _own_ life she was worried about. _Her_ life could depend on finding those supplies, for if she did not, even she could not get far without them. 

Finally, she decided to trust her instincts, and they matched her memories. The young woman returned her attention to the man, concern shooting through her yet again as she saw his pale, ashen face and shallow quick breathing. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and top lip, though she knew his skin felt more clammy than anything. She knew there had been poison on that arrow. Her only consolation in the matter was that the poison was not likely to be fatal. The dart had been intended for her, and Shirk would not have tried to kill her for even he would not deliberately risk Sauron's wrath. Now, though, it was a different story. 

She shook those thoughts aside, acknowledging the cold comfort of her thoughts before pushing them aside. Carefully, she placed the torch down before reaching for the ranger's left arm: that, at least, she could fix. Pulling and twisting, she popped the apendage back into socket and wished she could bind it to keep it from moving. 

Shaking her head, she delicately pulled the limp ranger up and onto her shoulders, taking great pains not to put any more pressure on his lungs than was absolutely necessary, nor dislodge the arrow for she could not risk removing it until she could clean and bind it. 

When she finally had him settled as comfortably across her shoulders as was possible, she retrieved the torch and proceeded down the tunnel. This was going to be a long walk. 

She hoped she was not wrong. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The first thing he registered was movement. That, and the fact that he appeared to be hanging. He did not have long to ponder this, however, for almost as soon as he realized it, it stopped. 

"Strider?" a hesitant voice called back to him. 

He made an inarticulate sound that even he could not attach meaning to. His bleary mind was still not up to anything so complicated. 

A quiet laugh was the response. "Not to worry, Strider. We'll be stopping soon. I wager you will feel better once we have." 

With that, the slight rocking he had marked earlier returned, and he failed to stifle a groan as his pounding head protested. Vaguely he wondered where the dwarfs had come from that were having so much fun reorganizing his head. Then he wondered what had happened . . . and realized shortly after that he had no idea where they were, where they were going, or why they were going there, not to mention who it was that was carrying him. 

Panic shot down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, before he was able to get himself back under control. He frowned and forced himself to concentrate. He knew these things, or at least thought he did, or should. 

Slowly, the information came back to him, and he was more than a little surprised to realize that Kalyamuina was the one who had to be carrying him. He did not think a girl so small as her would be able to bear his weight, which was not inconsiderable, but apparently she was. He decided it was not important to dwell on. 

For several minutes he simply let his mind wander, drifting over various thoughts that popped into his head--anything so long as it distracted him from his pain. His mind was clearing slowly as the pain seemed to intensify, and the ranger was not sure if that could be considered a good thing or not. However, along with increasing clarity also came the desire to see his surroundings. He could see faint impressions of light from behind his closed lids and decided he wanted to know the origin of the flicker of light, though he was sure it was fire as he could hear the rush of flame devouring something. 

He made to open his eyes, and suddenly knew why he had had them closed in the first place: his eyes were threatening to explode. That, and his head was threatening to follow. Immediately, the lids closed back down over his eyes, cutting out the incredibly bright light of the torch held only a couple feet away from his head. Distantly, he thought he heard a whimper, but could not be sure. 

"Easy, friend," Kalyamuina murmured, her voice sounding loud to his ears but not quite loud enough to increase the pounding racket already bouncing within. "You have a concussion. This second fall helped your head not at all, I think." 

"Where are we?" he managed to force through sluggish lips. 

"Hopefully headed in the right direction," came the answer, and he frowned. 

"What do you mean?" 

He felt the other turn her head a little to gain a glance at his expression. "I mean that I hope we are heading in the right direction." 

"To go where?" he demanded, his voice somehow forceful despite his weakness. 

"To our destination," Kalyamuina demurred. Apparently, she expected the impatient retort that sprung to mind, for she continued before he could form the words. "It has no name, so I can not tell you, for it is simply another place indistinguishable from the next, save that it contains supplies we might use to help with that headache which is causing you so much discomfort, among other things." There was a brief silence, then, "It should not be too much further." 

Aragorn decided it was best to leave it at that. For the moment, at least. He could do nothing about the situation so there was no use objecting to it. He did, however, fervently hope that she was right, and that this place they were heading towards was not much further. 

Now that his mind was mostly clear and he could better tell his surroundings, he had become aware of the fine trembling in the young one's shoulders. Whether the trembling was from fatigue or pain, he could not tell, but he could tell that Kalyamuina could not keep going much further as things stood, nor could he move very far on his own. 

It galled him to think he was more or less helpless. His brothers, were he not in possibly mortal danger, would no doubt find it funny that he had gotten himself trapped and injured, and that the person he had just met had to drag him around. The icing on the cake was that the person just happened to be female. Embarrassing, but he could do nothing about it; he was just glad no one was here to see this. 

Then, there was the question of whether or not he could trust her. 

The ranger knew he had more than a concussion, and his dry throat which tasted vaguely of cotton reminded him of a time many years ago when he had allowed his brothers to talk him into a drinking contest, and the hangover he had had when he woke up. _That's what I feel like_, he acknowledged to himself. _I feel like I'm hung-over._ He remembered now that he had not cared for the feeling too much then, either. 

Time seemed to swirl around him without meaning, and yet it felt like ages from the time he woke till the time when he was lowered to the ground. At first he had been able to mark their passage by his companion's steady footsteps. That changed, though, for after a while--once the shaking had grown worse--her steps ceased to be steady and became erratic. He could not figure out how he was not jolted any more when they were irregular than he had been when they were steady, but he was not in a mood to question good fortune, for the jolting pained him quite enough as it was. 

He had managed to open his eyes sometime after that initial attempt and now looked around at where they had stopped. Kalyamuina stooped over something he could not see, moving what he thought was sand quickly out of the way. Aragorn frowned, then chose to ignore it. He had a feeling there was much he did not understand which was beyond him until his head decided to be more cooperative. 

Ill focusing eyes took in the gray walls surrounding them, rough and uneven, they looked to have been either hastily chiseled with no attention taken for aesthetic taste or worn away by water rushing quickly by. They were rounded at the top and turned slightly in just before connecting with the floor. The human did not mind this in the least: it made them more comfortable to lean against in his current state, though he doubted that was the creator's intention. He also noticed, after a moment, that this section was not merely another part of the corridor they had been walking through. It was actually a cavern of sorts, like a round room with two doors leading through it on opposite sides. 

A small cry of triumph wrenched his attention back to Kalyamuina. She stood quickly, raising a small pack, and had to quickly take a couple steps back as she swayed unsteadily. He tensed, prepared to get up if she needed help, but knew that even if she did he would never make it in time to keep her from falling. The ranger was relieved when she recovered her balance and turned to look at him. 

She smiled. "I did choose the right way," she announced, moving to kneel beside him. "Which means we now have supplies we lacked before." 

He nodded, his vision spinning mildly and he blinked deliberately a couple times to see if that would halt it. "That's good." 

She glanced at him once more briefly before turning to the pack settled beside her. The young one rifled through it quickly and soon pulled out some bandages and a couple vials and herbs, water, and a bowl. "Water may be the one thing we won't have to worry about down here," she commented as she deftly dumped a handful of some herb in the bowl and used a stone to grind them. To that, she added water and a drop or two of one of the vials. A small handful of some kind of powder was added next and the whole concoction mixed together, and all this done while she continued to talk to him. "There are all kinds of streams and such that drip down these tunnels from the tops of the mountains. If my ears don't deceive me, there should be one such place less than a league further that way." She tilted her head toward the door opposite from where they had entered. "A good thing, too, for I think we shall need more than I have." 

He met her gaze as she finished her mixture, which now looked like some kind of paste, and wished she did not seem to shift forms before his eyes, looking sweet one moment and fearsome the next. Her voice, too, kept bending and changing, sweet and playful one moment and deep and fearsome the next. He frowned slightly, wishing what he was seeing made sense. 

She frowned at him, looking carefully at his eyes in the light from the torch, which still burned a little ways away. "The poison has started working," she murmured. The young one sighed and shook her head. Aragorn had no idea why. What poison was she talking about? "It's a favorite of Shirk's." 

His eyes widened slightly. She knew those thing's names? He blinked as he tried to puzzle out this new information. He licked his lips. "Who are you?" 

She looked up at him through her lashes before grabbing water and a cloth and began cleaning the cuts he had sustained in the fall, starting with the deep one near his hairline. He was slightly amused to see a nearly matching one on her forehead, but refused to be deterred. It was important, he knew it was. 

"Kalya--" He cut off us a coughing fit took him and he struggled to breath. A hand touched his back, grounding him, and a water skin was pushed against his lips. He accepted it shakily and did his best to drink. At least as much of the water ended up on the floor as made it into his mouth, but he managed to stop coughing. "Kalya--" he tried again, only to be cut off. 

"Kalya is fine, Ranger. Kalyamuina is a bit long in your state." 

He nodded. "Who are you?" 

"You know," she responded, picking up the bowl and turning away from him slightly before facing him again, though she would not quite meet his eyes. Her fingers were dipped in the paste and the mixture spread over his forehead. He hissed slightly when the stuff first contacted the broken skin, then relaxed as the pain receded. His head even ceased some of its relentless throbbing. 

"No, I know your name," he contradicted after taking a calming breath. "Or at least the name you have given me. What's your real name? Your real identity?" 

"You will know when you are prepared to tell me the same," she replied. 

He blinked. He thought perhaps she knew a bit more about Rangers than she had told. He had a feeling she knew a great deal about a good many things which she had yet to reveal. Most would probably have to wait for the right moment to be revealed, and it could be a very long time before he knew even a fraction of what she was capable of. He swallowed hard as reality seemed to shift again. He closed his eyes. 

"Who are they?" 

"They?" 

"Those others up there. You called one of them Shirk." He opened his eyes in time to catch an annoyed glare directed his way. 

Kalya ducked her head and turned her attention to treating another cut. She was silent so long he thought she would not answer, but eventually, she did, just as he was about to ask another question with, he hoped, different results. "They are the Slyntari. I have had experiences with them before." 

Aragorn nodded. It was better than nothing, and he suspected it would do no good to ask for more, still. . . . "What are the Slyntari?" 

"You will find out," she evaded, "if you survive this and make it to Rivendell. You may ask Lord Elrond. I wager he will be able to tell you." 

Aragorn frowned at this and wondered if the drug was responsible, or if she really was not making any sense. When the scene before his eyes changed into a horrific nightmare once more, he decided it had to be the poison. It was difficult to focus on anything. 

Then he noticed that she was watching him closely. He held her gaze as best he could, determined that he would not back down . . . though precisely why he did not want to back down eluded him. His frown deepened. What was wrong with him? Oh, right, poison. That did not help him feel better at all. 

He blinked when he felt a cool hand press against his forehead. His eyes drifted closed of their own free will, and he wondered when he had looked away from the being before him. A worried frown pulled at the girl's lips when he managed to pry them back open and he wondered why she was so ill-at-ease. There was no reason someone so young as her should to have to deal with anything dark enough to cause such concern as he saw on her face. His head tilted slightly in question. "Why are you worried?" 

The girl's eyes widened. He wondered why. Then blinked as she seemed to disappear, so fast did she move away. He then blinked again as the room spun crazily about him, moving first one way and then the next; he wished it would stop. He was already quite dizzy; his surroundings did not need to help put him off balance. 

Then he had to blink again, for the girl was suddenly back before him, holding a mug. Her lips moved but he heard no sound and frowned. She pushed the cup at him, and instinctively he took it, compliantly moving it closer to his mouth when she pushed on the bottom. The rim touched his lips, a warm fluid splashing against his lips. He swallowed without thought, then realized she wanted him to drink it. 

It was with an odd sense of deja vu that the world he was looking at grew kind of fuzzy and began to fade around the edges. His eyelids grew heavy and he had a hard time keeping them open. Blue eyes peered at him anxiously and he wondered why before the small space disappeared, his eyes closed, and he sank back into comforting darkness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt stared with a mixture of concern and annoyance; the former for the human, the later at herself for feeling the former. She had not expected the poison would take him so quickly. The ease with which it had stolen the other's mind was disturbing for it heralded the next stage. He would beg for this escape before the end and he would not get it, unless she could neutralize enough of the drug first. The problem was she did not have the right herbs, and no means to acquire them. 

*_"Leave him be!" A hard voice yelled, startling the young girl into looking up. Furious blue eyes stared back at her, burning her. "Get away from him!" Her arm was grabbed roughly as she was yanked to her feet. "You do not help others whose folly injures them. Everyone pays for their mistakes. You do not help them. Leave him be."_* 

That one had died, she remembered, shortly after she had been dragged away though she could have saved him. His name had been added to the ever-growing list of failures, which was added to daily, possibly hourly. Now, she too, had been added to the list of failures, denied a presence on the short list of successes because of one man. 

Dark thoughts filtered quickly through her mind, most of them uncomplimentary to her former leader. She had never loved him, never even liked him, but she had respected him and it angered her that he had not trusted her deal to with the human on her own. 

Which brought her back to the ranger. She frowned slightly and picked back up the bowl of paste she had been using to treat his wounds. There were still a few more cuts she needed to tend to, and the paste was quickly dabbed onto them. Then she turned her attention to the arrow she had let be for the time being. Carefully, she touched the skin surrounding the arrow, trying to see it clearly. 

It pierced his right shoulder just under a hand span down from the top of his shoulder. Had it been on his left side, it likely would have pierced his heart. Nearly half the arrow had pierced his flesh and she frowned. Most Slyntari arrows were easy enough to pull out since they had no wish to leave behind evidence of their passing, however there were other arrows meant to be dangerous to an individual if removed hastily. She tried to remember which kind this was. She thought it was the former. The arrow she remembered hitting the wall near them had contained no edges or flared head. 

Decided, she placed her left hand against his chest just above the arrow and grabbed the shaft firmly as close to the head as she could. She was suddenly glad the drug she had placed in his tea would keep him unconscious so he would not fight her while she did this. Then, taking a deep breath, she pulled quickly straight out. It came out easily, covered in blood, and she could just make out the residue of the poison on the head and the shaft just above it. She comforted herself with the thought that he would not yet have to suffer from the extreme hallucinations that usually accompanied the early stages of the drug's effects. They were often disturbing, at least the ones she remembered always were, and from the odd looks Strider had given her, she was pretty sure whatever he had been seeing was not pleasant. The drug she had given him in the tea would ensure he experienced nothing, for a little while, at least. 

She glanced down at him, not particularly liking how he made her feel, and began dabbing the paste into the arrow wound; it would help with the pain and ward off infection. She had never enjoyed watching other people suffer. Her own suffering meant little to her--it was simply a fact of life, it happened. She could accept her own pain. It hurt so much more when that same pain was inflicted upon others, and it did not truly matter who it was. 

Most of the time, she could ignore those feelings, push them to the back of the mind so they did not interfere. They were inappropriate for her. She was punished when they interfered and kept her from carrying out her job, and while pain did not bother her, neither did she enjoy her "punishments" at the hands of Shirk. They were always quite painful, and, unfortunately, quite memorable. 

She wrapped his chest with bandages to cover the wound so it would not attract the dirt that seemed to love bloody injuries so much and to brace the ribs she knew were broken to keep them from moving too much. They had hurt him, she knew. 

Against all reason, she had to admit--if only to herself-- that it hurt terribly to watch Strider in pain, suffering for something he did not understand and had no part in. It hurt worse to know that things could only go downhill from here and that there was nothing she could do to stop it. Kelt swallowed painfully and wondered why that should be. She barely knew him! In fact, it would probably be a blessing if she just killed him. 

Irritably pushing back any feelings of compassion, she drew the dagger she kept in her boot and moved it toward her neck. She could end it quick, release him from all danger and pain like she had that pregnant woman Shirk had wanted brought to him. She should, she knew, yet she paused. 

_If you kill him Shirk only has to worry about you_, a voice spoke up in the back of her mind, sounding suspiciously like her father. _You still need him_. 

She shook her head, denying what the voice said. She needed no one. In fact, she could get away faster and easier without the troublesome, meddlesome human which was likely more trouble than he was worth. 

Still she hesitated, his kindness and consideration working against the barriers she had put up to accomplish her assignments. He had not yelled at her or berated her for mistakes, and she had made quite a few, she knew. He had taken an arrow for her when it was her own inattention that would have had her shot in the first place. Shirk never would have done the same. He would have said the arrow was her punishment for not paying adequate attention to the situation. 

Next to Strider, Shirk was cruel. Kelt had never thought of him as such before and it was an odd thought. Were all men like Strider? Or was Strider an exception and most men were like Shirk? 

Idly Kelt traced patterns in the dirt that covered the floor of the tunnel, her fingers moving in an unconscious pattern along the floor even as she held the dagger steady against the other's neck. She glanced down, meaning to take another look in her pack and caught sight of her doodling: a tree. Quickly, she scratched it out, erasing it with a quick sweep of her hand, then resheathed her dagger, deciding she could always finish him later if he proved too bothersome. The pack was barely a foot away and she scooted forward to reach it better for something to do. 

Efficiently, the young Slyntari organized the various contents, placing like together and sorting them as best she could. Pain relievers, sleepers, clotting agents, cleansers and others were classified and examined. Herbs that fought fevers were given special attention and she put them aside. Once the poison truly started working, she would need to keep the other's fever down or risk losing him before there was even a chance of help. Pain relievers, too, were reverently sat aside. She was all too familiar with the pain that accompanied this particular drug. Shirk had first tested it on her--once he had satisfied himself that it would not kill her. 

Her gaze became distant as she traveled back to that horrible experience. The hallucinations had been bad, but the pain had been worse. Her screams had been heard by many, even through the thick walls she had been housed in. By the time it had worn off, she could no longer talk, her throat raw from the near constant abuse she had put it through for nearly four days with no water to ease its burden. That had not been the last time she had felt the drug's bite, either. 

She shook her head, and glanced back at the ranger. In that moment, she looked both excessively young and entirely too old. Innocence shone in her gaze, pained and lost, yet all too knowledgeable about the situation. The drug would not kill Strider, but he could still die. Kelt had heard about what had happened to the last man the poison had been used on. It had driven him mad; he had killed himself unable to deal with what he saw, depression knawing at his mind and destroying his will to live. 

She pulled her legs up close to her and wrapped her arms around them, wishing she could go back and stop him from jumping in front of her, wishing she had been paying attention up there on that cliff and not distracted. He never would have jumped in front of her then, never would have taken the arrow, never would have been poisoned. . . . 

No, he would have been none of those. Instead, he would be dead. 

Kelt bit her lip, her brow furrowed, then turned away. She caught sight of the torch sitting by the wall. The light was dangerous. If Shirk and Nirt were looking for them, they would find them easily enough without a sign pointing out their location. Irritated and lacking anything to take it out on, she forcefully kicked the torch, knocking it too the ground and then kicked again to cover it in sand. 

The flames went out and left both fugitives in pitch blackness undisturbed by anything. In the dark, as she had done so many times, she cried, liquid falling down her cheeks in silence. In the dark, no one could see her pain or confusion or know her weakness, and in the dark, she could no longer hold it at bay. In the dark, she could be someone else and ignore every lesson she had ever been taught beacuse there was no one and nothing else around her. 

Eventually, she lay back and let her eyes drift shut, though it would not have mattered if she had kept them open, and released her consciousness to dreams. They would need to move soon. And she needed strength to help Strider deal with what was coming next. She only hoped it would not prove too much for the man. Men like Strider deserved to die heroically in battle, fighting enemies and winning battles, not slowly worn down and beaten into submission by some creeping poison that did more harm to the mind than the body. 

She frowned slightly at the thought, then drifted away from consciousness and thought no more. 


	8. Tortured Minds, Uncertain Hearts

Well, here it is. Late, I know. I simply couldn't be bothered to post on time. *backs away quickly while holding hands out placatingly (as I flater myself by thinking you're upset it's late)* Actually, I forgot. Completely and totally. Fled my mind completely. Ah, well, it must have been all the information I was trying to shove into it in a short period of time. Lol. Anyway, now it's here. *looks at two new reviews* And either I have been abandoned once more or people are getting as lazy as I am. The approaching school year just keeps sucking all the energy out of me. . . . 

**Bill the Pony:** Oooh, that makes me so happy. And I happen to agree with you: Orlando looks better as a pirate than an elf, but as he looks quite nice as an elf. . . . *clears throat* Ah, but that's another story. 

**Grumpy: **Yes, trouble is attracted to Aragorn. The twins. . . . Well, I suppose I might bring them to join the party. Could be interesting, after all. *g* 

Oh, and I apologize in advance if this chapter seems stupid. I was rereading tonight prior to posting and comments and what not to ensure it made sense and there were no glaring grammatical errors, and was less than pleased with it, but something has to happen between the trapping and the . . . Discovering. 

. . . . Um, here it is.****

****

**Tortured Minds, Uncertain Hearts**

Slowly, aware of the pain that had resulted the last time he had attempted to open his eyes, Aragorn cracked his eyes. He was surprised when there was no pain. He looked around carefully and frowned. He remembered going to sleep in a cave of some sort--at least he thought he did--and this was anything but. In fact, he did not truly seem to be anywhere. 

Everything was hazy, at least he thought it was hazy. Though, maybe hazy was not really the right word; maybe the right word was _insubstantial_. He was almost convinced he could see straight through the floor and walls and ceiling, except he was not sure there _was_ any of those things. Wherever he was the it was pink . . . no, blue . . . silver. . . . He frowned. Why did the color keep shifting? Where was he? 

No answer came and he turned slowly around, holding his hands out at his sides like he was trying to walk without sight through a room and was hoping to avoid any furniture that might have attacked his shins. Nothing he saw was familiar, or rather, nothing was familiar in the sense that he had expected to see it where he was, which was slightly confusing because he did not even know where here was. 

He turned again and started when a figure materialized before him. It was black and seemed to float without legs. The air seemed to go chill and fear shot its way through him, chilling his blood and speeding his pulse making his heart beat rapidly in his chest. The very world around him darkened with the other's presence and seemed to shrink away from him. He swallowed hard, attempting to get his emotions back under control. "Who are you?" he asked, and was pleased his voice did not shake too much. 

No answer came except a kind of screaming wailing rush that made his blood run cold and shoot fire through his veins. He stepped back involuntarily as the shadow moved closer black tendrils of its evil seeming to stretch out and try to grab him. Something caught at his boot and he stumbled. As he tried to catch his balance, his gaze caught what he had stumbled over and his eyes widened. 

"LEGOLAS!" he screamed, his eyes wide in shock, in fear, in incomprehension. It could not be . . . but it was. His friend's body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his eyes staring sightlessly far too wide to be sleeping, horror shining brightly in their sightless depths, chilling his blood even further. Blood pooled around him, soaking the ground that did not seem to be there and yet was. Too much blood. Some of it leaked from the side of the being's mouth, from the corner's of his eyes, his nose. A large spot colored his tunic, darkening most of the dark green fabric with its horrid stain. "Legolas!" he called again, his voice shaking as most of his strength disappeared. "No, Legolas, no!" His voice was no more than a whisper as he sank to his knees, his hands moving out to touch the figure lying beside him, only to pull back before they actually touched. "No. Legolas." Tears blurred his sight. 

"Can't you ever do anything right?" a hard voice asked from the other side of him. 

His head whipped around, the world around him seeming to spin of its own will, seeming to turn a complete circle around him even as he whirled to face this other voice with him, a voice he recognized, and it caught at his hurting soul. "A-Ada?" he asked hesitantly, as his gaze came to rest of the regal figure of his foster-father. His voice would not work to call him anything else. 

"Your impulsiveness will be the death of you, and through that my daughter. How can you expect me to give you her hand?" 

"P-please . . ." he stuttered, frowning in confusion, his mind whirling with pain, and leaving him with no idea what it was he was about to say. 

"Now, you can not even keep your friends alive, nor evade the darkness. You, are weak Aragorn son of Arathorn. Your blood is weak. You will never gain the throne--" 

"I don't want the throne!" he cried, latching onto that one thought. 

"--and you will never gain the hand of Arwen, whom you should never have sought in the first place. You will be dead before you can attempt it." 

"No," he whispered painfully. Tears slipped from his eyes, tears he would have never shed in front of the elven lord had his heart not been so abused and torn. No Legolas, no Arwen, no Ada, for they had all left him and he had no one; and it was his fault. He swallowed painfully. "It's my fault," he murmured. "It's my fault, it's my fault, it's all my fault." He could not stop the painful litany that condemned him in his own words from coming out of his own mouth, but his soul rebelled, wailing pitifully for it to stop, begging shamelessly for it to just _stop_. 

Then something shook him hard--and it was gone. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

For a while, the dark had been uninterrupted and a blissful escape from pain, an escape necessary for healing, and Kelt had been grateful for it, but slowly, something had intruded on that peace and the young being frowned as she tried to place what it was without rising towards waking. 

It did not work and she found her awareness moving away from unknowing darkness into semi-awareness where she could monitor what was going on around her, now truly curious as to what had disturbed her sleep, for she heard nothing. Nothing, that is, until her ears registered the sharp breathing of her companion. It was faster than it should have been, and she frowned. The former Slyntari had a feeling the Dúnadan's sleep was no longer restful. 

Slowly, she moved to her hands and knees, wary of running into anything that would exacerbate the faint pounding in her head. It was then that she remembered she had never seen to her own injuries and she frowned. Her worry for another had caused her to neglect herself. Again. And she still could not figure out why she even cared in the first place. The ranger meant nothing to her. 

Shirk would have had her head. Each to herself, he had said, each to self. _You treat your own injuries and let the other person deal with their own as well. They incurred them, they can deal with them. It is not your place. _The healer in her, trained when she was still mostly innocent, had always balked at that order, for why were there healers if everybody was always supposed to see to themselves? She was almost positive it was an edict she had never managed to follow. She shook her head, regretted it as pain lanced through her skull, and proceeded to move cautiously across the floor, searching the ground for the hole she had taken the pouch out of so she could get the wood to start a fire. She hoped desperately that she found the hole before she fell into it; the girl was sure her body would not thank her if she did not. 

Luck was with her, for the tips of her fingers curled around edge, identifying the opening before she could put her hands in it and likely hit her head yet again. Moving even more cautiously, she scooted forward till she was on the edge and slowly reached down until she found the pieces of wood. She smiled slightly and began pulling them up, one piece at a time, her ribs throbbing sharply with the movement she was forcing upon her body after ignoring it for so long. She ignored the message as she heard the man behind her shift restlessly and his breathing increase even more. 

Kelt turned back to the whole and leaned forward, slowly searching for the last two objects she needed: the blade and flint rock to start the fire. She could make do without them, but starting the fire would be easier with them. Her whole being was focused on finding the two objects which seemed to have been lost in the sand. Her fingers shifted through it, hoping she was not overlooking them since she could not see. . . . 

"LEGOLAS!" the bloodcurdling scream cut through the silence that had wrapped itself around the small cavern, striking Kelt's already somewhat frazzled nerves and nearly stopping her heart. Her hand slipped as she jumped in surprise and she fell forward with nothing to stop her fall. The top of her head connected painfully with the edge of the hole, the rock it had been drilled into stopping her decent abruptly and she bit off the cry that wanted to escape, as she fell half in and half out of the opening. She moved her right hand in an attempt to gain purchase from below and landed on something that was not sand. A short grin of triumph split her face in the darkness. 

"No, Legolas, no!" whispered through the darkness, loud with the lack of conflicting sound, and the pain burned straight through her. She frowned. 

Then she quickly shifted backwards so she was not directly over the hole. She closed her fist around the rock and passed in into her left hand before placing that behind her. The small blade was grabbed next and she simply rolled over onto her back away from the opening in the floor, sitting up as soon as she had enough balance to do so. Her left hand fell on the flint stone at her side as she shifted forward onto her knees and crawled to find the wood as more cries started falling from the Ranger's lips, his tone distressed and edging quickly into despair. 

As quickly as she could, she stacked the wood and struck the flame, forcing herself to move steadily even as her heart screamed at her to go to the other's side and wake him from the nightmare, her mind knowing the pain he suffered through with her delay. However, she also knew that the delay would be longer if she did not do this right the first time, and she was gratified when the flame caught on the first try, shooting light through the small enclosure. She dropped the objects quickly and worked on securing the light she had started. Before long, but too long for stinging conscious, the fire burned merrily and she moved to the man's side. 

Shadows danced across his face which was streaked with tears and sheened with sweat. He moved restlessly, short sharp movements which spoke eloquently about his distress. She was just about to lay her hands on his shoulder to wake him when despairing words caught her ears, ". . . my fault. It's all my fault." 

That did it and she quickly grabbed his shoulders--no longer mindful of his injuries--and shook him hard. A pained gasp escaped the man, and his eyes flew open. They stared at her blankly for a few moments. "Strider?" she asked cautiously. 

He blinked and some of the horrified pain disappeared from that silver gaze which had somehow acquired a blue tint by firelight, and a portion of recognition replaced it, bringing back some of the Ranger she remembered to that tortured gaze. "Are you all right?" 

He blinked again and the pain was gone. "Fine," he ground out, his voice rough, choked. He cleared his throat impatiently. "I'm fine." 

Kelt definitely disagreed with that. She knew well enough that it was likely he would not be "fine" for a long time, even assuming the Ungwale was neutralized and they managed to escape Shirk and Nirt and whoever else was called to help. Neither looked like happening any time soon. The memories of whatever he saw would probably haunt him long after the cause was gone. Kelt was _still_ haunted by some of hers. 

Instead of pressing a declaration, however, she let it go, and nodded. "That's good. We will need to be moving on soon. We cannot stay here if we intend to come out of this alive." The girl looked down and picked up the bowl next to her, before returning her attention to the Ranger before her. "Let me see your wounds." 

He looked nearly normal as he stared at her, having recovered quickly from . . . well, he was not sure exactly what to call that, but he had recovered quickly from it once he had pushed the memories away. "You're injured," he observed. 

Kelt did not blink. "It's a scratch." 

"So are mine." 

"Not that arrow wound, human," she retorted, and was caught off guard by the flash of pain that lanced across the other's countenance at the barb. A fact that threw her completely, though she could not say why. _Something to do with the poison, then_, she decided. Again, she chose to ignore it. Time, he would need time. She just hoped she would know when space would no longer be good for him. Then she wondered why she should care. It was his own fault, after all. She fought the urge to scowl, since she was still trying to put him at ease, and said, "If you insist, you can see to my scratches once I'm done with what you decided to use as a pincushion." 

A small, unwilling smile briefly pulled at his lips, easing the pain she had inadvertently caused, and she moved forward again. The bowl was placed nearby as she carefully began unwrapping his chest so she could get to the injury. The bandages were placed aside to be re-wrapped once she was done. She carefully undid the last set of bandages which directly covered the wound and placed them closer to the fire and pulled the press away from the injury. Already it looked better then it had. Most of the red inflammation from the poison was gone and the hole had begun to close, already mostly scabbed over. She nodded slowly and dabbed some more of the paste on the wound. Another press was applied and new bandages carefully rewound before the other ones were re-added. 

She looked up at the ranger patiently waiting for her to finish. "How does your chest feel?" she asked. 

He paused with a slight frown on his face, as he consciously tested and marked his breathing for the first time. "Like someone's sitting on me," he eventually admitted. 

"I thought as much," Kelt agreed, nodding knowingly. "You'll need to be careful of your ribs, good sir, for a couple have been broken. It will be difficult to breath for a while, and not just because of the bandages." 

He nodded, then motioned for her to sit back so he could see to her own injuries. Having already agreed to this, she sat back without comment and dutifully followed every instruction he gave her as he skillfully saw to her little cuts and bruises. She hissed slightly when he finally discovered her ribs, then berated herself for she had intended on keeping that little detail secret. 

His head came up at the sound. "It appears I'm not the only to suffer damaged ribs," he commented mildly, pressing gently to judge whether or nor they were broken. 

"One or two may be cracked," Kelt decided to offer so he would stop. "Mostly it's just bruising." 

The man paused, then nodded, aware that she had been taught in the healing arts, as evidenced by his own care, and let the matter rest, merely binding her ribs as she had done his. Both sat in silence for several long minutes after he had finished, and Kelt found herself wondering what he was thinking before berating herself for caring about someone she had no business wondering about. Still, though her mind protested, she found herself contemplating him and thinking about what could be bothering him. She had a feeling she knew, but she wanted to hear him say it. 

She shifted, catching his attention, and tilted her head questioningly. "What are you thinking about?" she asked. 

Strider dropped his gaze to his hands, clasped before him gently, playing with his fingers like a nervous child. "Nothing," he murmured, trying for careless and falling far short. 

Kelt bit her tongue sharply in an attempt to keep her mouth shut. She wanted to press him, wanted to inquire who Legolas was, but determined she would wait. She tried to tell herself she really did _not_ want to know, but that did not work so she tried a different tactic. There would be a better time to ask, she finally told herself, she just had to wait for it. For once, the act worked and the words she wanted to ask never escaped. 

Instead, she nodded and turned her attention to her surroundings. The quite crackling of the fire was a distraction, as well as the somewhat labored breathing of her companion, but she could ignore them well enough. Erasing them after identifying them, Kelt let silence replace them and listened for anything that seemed out of place. She caught the steady drip from further away and blocked that out as well. Silence met her ears for many long minutes after that, but she knew that was simply too good to be true, the thought that maybe Shirk had not managed to track them yet, so she listened harder. 

Just as she was about to decide that maybe the Slyntari were taking their time, she caught the faint sound of a footstep, distant already and moving further away, but it was all she needed. They were looking, they just had not found them yet. 

She let out the breath she had not realized she was holding in a rush and quickly brought her attention closer to home. Strider was peering at her intently and she suddenly realized he had been calling her name. "What?" she asked. 

"I asked what I could expect from this poison," he answered. 

That was difficult. She shifted. "Nothing good, I'm sure," she replied. "The hallucinations that tend to come with it have already set in, I think. " She glanced at him to gauge his reaction and noted that he only nodded thoughtfully, distantly. "The tea I gave you earlier will help counter the effects, but it does not work too well with the unconscious mind. A fever will follow shortly. Dizziness will accompany it, at least for a little while. The dizziness passes fastest of any of the symptoms. Chills will start sometime after the dizziness has passed. You'll feel weak and shaky and you'll ache all over. I'm afraid that will not help your breathing at all." 

He looked at her when she stopped speaking. "Is that all?" he inquired. 

"If there is more, I have not experienced it. It is possible the poison, Ungwale, will affect you differently than it did me, but I can warn you about no more," she replied, watching his reactions closely. He seemed to take it all in stride, perhaps still too distressed about what he had seen to truly worry over what would come. "Though there is one more thing I must warn you of." He looked at her curiously. "The, uh." She hesitated, glancing at him quickly before looking to the fire and back again. "The hallucinations won't stop. The drug I gave you will keep them at bay for a time, but eventually the poison will overpower it and there will be no way to stop them. If the poison is not neutralized, they will eventually take over your awareness. It could take a week. It could take a year. It could take multiple doses, in which case you might escape." 

"Good to know," he admitted with a tight nod, fear entering his gaze though she was not particularly sure what it was he feared. 

Kelt sat up quickly, riveting his attention on her slight form. "As such," she declared, affecting an all important posture and tone, "I am going to give you instructions you will likely never hear again while injured: I am hearby forbidding you from sleeping. Period." 

Strider chuckled, wrapping his arms around his chest, and Kelt's eyes sparkled. "You're right," he managed after a moment. "I'll probably never hear those instructions ever again." He shook his head slowly, lost in a memory from the past, Kelt guessed and she left him alone, momentarily sure his thoughts were not dark. 

The young woman turned back to their supplies and sifted through the food. There was precious little of it, and it had to last an indefinite amount of time. She was not at all sure they could get to the other stores she had stored down here when the Slyntari had first arrived. The girl had no love of caves and mistrusted the walls, wary that they would collapse on any unsuspecting victims in their depths at any minute. She had loathed being trapped alone and with no supplies, and so had buried them when she arrived. Now she was glad she had kept these actions secret from her superiors and companions. Had any of the others known of the existence of these stashes, they could have just made for them and waited. 

Kelt picked up a small bar that had been wrapped carefully in some sort of paper and tossed it to her companion. He caught it easily, even if he had not been paying attention. She pulled out one for herself and sat down to eat it. It was an odd grain ensemble that kept well over long periods, but that was not meant to be eaten alone for any length of time. Unwrapping the pitiful ration, she bit into it and considered where they should head once the two unlikely companions were ready to move. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  


Aragorn examined the strange bar carefully before following Kalya's example. He bit into the small bar and was surprised to find that it was actually fairly good, though he was not sure what, precisely, it was made of. It was yet one more thing he could ask her about later. He had a suspicion that she would simply put off the answer to any question he asked, no matter how innocent it seemed to him. 

  
He wished he had something to do, something that would distract him from the painful thoughts rushing through his mind. The image of Legolas lying before him, dead, kept popping up and sending unbearable pain arcing through his heart. He struggled to push those thoughts away and convince himself that it had no really happened, that it had been a dream. However the images, the very tangibility of it, and the fact that he could place no corresponding image that it could have sprung from, all served to work against his desperate pleas. The image would not leave him, and he could not convince himself that it was simply a dream. 

  
That image had been the most painful, had hurt the most. The rest of it had simply poured salt in a wound that already stung. Painful as the words had been to hear, they were not anything he had not heard already--if only from his own mind--and had no real power over him, except to make him feel alone. Without Arwen, without Elrond, without Legolas, who did he have left? Elladan and Elrohir, but would they stay with him if Elrond disowned him? The ranger did not think so. 

  
Aragorn startled slightly when he heard someone call his name. He looked up into the concerned gaze of Kalya. He smiled slightly at her, hoping she would not ask what he was thinking about again. 

For once, his wish was granted. "We need to be moving very soon," she announced. "Can you walk?" 

"Yes," he said with a nod. "Where are we going? It seems you know these tunnels fairly well." 

"Away from here." 

He rolled his eyes. He had a feeling traveling with this one through these tunnels was going to be every bit as trying as traveling with Le--with an elf. Then he wondered why that notion did not seem absurd, for it was obvious to his eyes that the individual was no elf. Yet, had not he remarked earlier that there was something elvish about her? "Are we to go now?" he inquired. He would prefer to leave now rather than await whatever it was that haunted their steps with death; he wanted to be moving, moving away from his pain. 

She nodded and he breathed a sigh of relief. "If you think you are up to it, it would probably be best to move on now," she stated, busily stuffing different items into the pack at her side. She looked up, then said, "But first we must replenish our water store." She held up two water flasks. 

He moved to his feet as quickly as he could. "I'll do it," he volunteered and snatched them along with the torch Kalya had re-lit before she could protest his going. Just before he started down the path he turned back. "This way and to the left, right?" 

"Yes," Kalya replied, eyeing him keenly. "You'll find an offshoot on the right where the pool is housed." 

Aragorn nodded and quickly made his way away from the small clearing. He was not entirely sure what had possessed him to make such a hasty getaway, but he felt better now that he had. It felt good to walk, even though it had not truly been that long that he had been unable. He shook his head. The dream, nightmare, vision--whatever, had made the time seem to be so much longer. 

His heart ached terribly in response to old concerns and questions he had thought long buried. Questions about the acceptance of his foster-father. He knew Elrond would always care for him and welcome him, that loving his daughter did not change that . . . and yet now he could not help but wonder if that was true. Then there was his love for Arwen. Was it right? How could something that caused so much pain be right? It pained Arwen; it pained her to be at odds with her father, to have to say good-bye to her beloved, to never know if maybe the next time she did would be the last. Their love pained her father; it pained him to have to face one day bidding farewell his beloved daughter forever--his last living link to her mother, to face the possibility of losing both his foster-son and his daughter prematurely if Aragorn should fail in his quest. The elf lord knew in his heart that if the man died, his daughter would likely follow shortly after due to a broken heart. That was one thing he could not bear--being the cause of Arwen's death, and yet he knew that was exactly what would happen if she pledged herself to him; but she had already pledged herself to him. 

He stumbled slightly and reached out with a hand to steady himself and was forced to pause and close his eyes against the grief that welled up within him. He had truly thought he would be able to forget these questions for awhile. It was simply too much to think about all at once. 

Yet he could not break his relationship with Arwen, for she would suffer from that as well. Of all the things he had been told, no one had ever told him to break off his relationship with Arwen. Elrond had told him he could not marry her until he became King of Gondor and Anor, but had not told him to leave her alone. Elladan and Elrohir had been supportive of him, at least after they had gotten over their surprise. Apparently, if their little sister had to fall in love with an Edar, there was no one they would rather her fall in love with than their little brother. _Even Legolas_--he choked off the thought abruptly as pain overwhelmed him. He choked back a sob even as he told himself what he had seen had not been real. 

Aragorn took a deep breath and forced himself to move on, pushing all of his thoughts to the back of his mind where he could not think of them. Then he opened his eyes and continued down the dark tunnel quickly, nearly running in his desire to get away from his memories and thoughts. He reached the small pool and quickly filled the flasks. That done, he fairly sprinted back to join Kalya. Attempting to puzzle out the many twists and turns that characterized the girl who was now his companion was useful in avoiding the many dark and painful thoughts that had demanded his attention ever since had had awoken not so very long ago. 

He entered and Kalya looked up quickly as soon as he came into sight. Her blue eyes were sharp and he was reminded keenly of stories he had heard of the Lady Galadriel and her piercing gaze. The quality of the eyes was similar in his mind, and a small shiver worked its way down his spine at the comparison. 

"Are you ready?" 

He nodded and she stood smoothly, easily shouldering the lone pack between them and holding three new torches in her hand. She handed one to him. "Don't light it. This is merely backup--just in case." She smiled slightly, then shifted one of her own torches to her left hand and dipped it into the flames, easily setting fire to the cloth wrapped head. The fire wrapped around the cloth, enveloping it as if embracing some long lost love who had suddenly been reunited. The Ranger had to blink quickly and look away so he could get himself back under control. 

The man turned back to find the girl had put out the fire and was now stuffing the burned pieces of wood back into the hole she had obviously dragged them out of. When the last piece had disappeared into the opening, she scooped the soot covered sand in after them before covering the top with clean sand so that the opening was indistinguishable from the rest of the ground. He then watched, speechless, as she progressed to erase every shred of evidence that they had even come this way, even going so far as to move back down the tunnel to the last divergence point so it was impossible to tell which way they had taken. 

With the path disguised, she returned to him, smiled slightly, and walked past him down the tunnel, torch held before her as she walked. He glanced back once, noting that even he could not tell anyone had been there, and then followed her further down the dark tunnels. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

He could not be sure how long they walked, his head still ached and his sense of time had been thrown off by the cave-in, but he was fairly sure that at least a day had passed after the fall and that they were well into a second by the time the two companions stopped again. 

The Ranger sank gratefully to the floor and watched through half-lidded eyes as Kalya once again began a search of the floor where they had stopped. This time it was something of an alcove off the path that they had stopped into, as if some unseen force had taken a spoon and scooped away part of the wall. The quality of the walls, however, had not changed, and they were still rough and gray. A soft "ah-ha!" was the only verbal indication he received when she found what she was looking for, and he turned his attention inward in an attempt to judge himself how he was, before the girl came over to examine him again. 

He was fairly sure the arrow wound would no longer trouble him. They had stopped several hours earlier so Kalya could look at it again and she had said it was nearly healed and would probably be little more than a memory very soon. Even Aragorn was surprised at how quickly it was healing. Aside from that, he ached, everywhere. Part of that was likely from forcing his body through so much stress so soon after he had hurt it without allowing adequate time for healing. It would be well. More troublesome was the remaining pounding throb in his head that at times made lights flash in the corner or backs of his eyes and protested whenever he had reason to turn his head quickly--or even at all--from side to side; the tension across his shoulders did not help, he was sure. Worrying was the dizziness he had been told to expect. So far it had not been too bad, not enough to effect his walking or seriously impede his balance, but it was there--brief moments when the world seemed to whirl or tilt beneath his feet. In the twelve hours they had been walking, he was glad there had only been four dizzy spells. 

He opened his eyes, not quite sure when he had closed them, to find Kalya squatting before him. She smiled. "You know the drill, Ranger." 

He sighed, but laughed inwardly. Most of the time, he had decided, she was as serious and silent as any ranger he knew, reserved to the point of seeming dour--at least that was how most viewed rangers. However there were times, flashes really, when a completely different person seemed to poke out that led Aragorn to believe she was not as she appeared, but that it was a manner she had learned over time. He was glad, it gave him something to focus on during their travels. 

Silently, he complied, and the other quickly and efficiently, as he had come to expect from her, administered to his injuries. 

When she finished, she sat back on her heels. "Has the dizziness started, Strider?" she asked, a cross between friendly concern and authoritative inquiry in her voice. It was a mixture he knew from experience only healers could truly pull off, and only when they wished. 

"Yes," he replied simply. He had learned over the last few hours that it did no good to try and avoid questions about his health. Vague questions, yes, she tended to let those go, but direct questions had no hope in hell of being let go with anything less than a completely honest response. 

She nodded. "How frequent are they?" 

"About one every three hours." He shifted slightly and raised an eyebrow at her. 

That seemed to relieve her, as best he could tell from what he knew of her expressions. "Good. After how quickly the poison took effect, I was afraid it would progress more quickly." 

"How long did it take for you?" he asked, curious. 

She glanced at him, a guarded look that usually meant she was going to close in on herself again and give one of those noncommittal answers he usually associated with a wizard or a high elf, but for once, the look faded. "'Twas a week for me," she offered. "But when they set in, they set in with a vengeance, and I was lost." 

"What did you see?" 

"Many things," was the vague reply he had been expecting of the first question, yet even this was different. A slight smile pulled at the corners of her lips, as if at some joke she was sharing. So he dared to continue asking as he felt he might yet receive a more enlightening answer. 

"What kinds of things?" 

The girl tilted her head to the side. "Dreadful things. Things to make even the bravest man's blood run cold and others yet that seemed not so bad, but which had the same effect." 

"You would not be more specific?" he asked hesitantly when she finished speaking. 

"Nay," she told him with a small smile that held no humor. "For you will understand what I mean soon enough. And mayhap what I told you would come to haunt you when otherwise such thoughts would not have plagued you." She sighed. "Many things you now suffer because of me. I would not add to them." 

"This is not your fault," Aragorn objected, not wanting the young one to blame herself. He was surprised, then, when she laughed. 

"That I know quite well, Dúnadan. 'Tis your fault and yours alone, for you made yourself step before me to take the arrow. Yet it is still because of me that you did so and thus because of me that you suffer. I will leave the fault with you where it belongs." A slight sparkle of amusement danced in her eyes and he was glad to see that in place of the concern which had darkened her gaze since the beginning of their journey. 

"Ah," he replied, his tone matching hers, which had been slightly playful. "Then I shall accept your silence on the matter in the spirit in which it is given." 

"A good choice," she remarked flatly, then rubbed the side of her face. 

"You are tired," he commented. 

She glanced sideways at the Adan. "Your observational skills astound me, Master Strider." 

He snorted. "Why don't you get some rest?" 

"Are you sure?" 

He nodded. "Just because I can't sleep does not mean you shouldn't." 

"Not what I meant," she retorted with an amused snort, though he was not sure what she found in that which was funny. "I would never dream of denying myself sleep simply because you shant be sleeping. I was thinking more along the lines of are you sure you'll be able to stay awake if left to your own devices? You, too, are tired. Perhaps you should risk it and sleep lest you need sleep and be unable to take it because the threat is too great." 

Aragorn blinked slowly, his pounding head having a hard time following what Kalya had just said. He frowned slightly, then shook his head. "Nay, I could not rest now. The darkness from before is too fresh in my mind. It would sure overwhelm me with or without the drug. No, not now." 

"Very well, Strider," Kalya agreed after a pause. "I will agree to rest, for one of us, at least, should be well rested should trouble come, but I must make this one condition." She paused until he nodded his ascent. "If you begin to feel overly tired and start having a hard time staying awake, I want you to wake me. Understand?" 

He smirked. "Yes, mother," he replied sarcastically. 

Her eyes narrowed and for a moment he was sure she was going to strike him, then with great dignity, she replied, "Just so we understand each other," and laid down, her eyes closing and seeming to almost immediately fall fast asleep. He was glad he had insisted she get some rest. She needed it. 

His gaze wandered over to the fire he had somehow missed being made, and was glad for the flickering, hypnotizing light. He could focus on the light without thinking about anything. 

He had no idea how long he sat there, gazing into the flames and thinking of nothing, but slowly they consumed his attention, spreading until they were all he saw. So consumed was he, that he never realized when his eyelids grew heavy. He never noticed that each time he blinked, his eyes stayed closed longer. He was so tired, he never even noticed when his quiet wakefulness turned into sleep in the blink of an eye. But his eyes slid closed and did not open again; his head slowly fell forward against his chest and he slid slightly as tension left his body. 

The only sounds in the small hollow was the hiss and crackle of bright flames and the steady breathing of two companions. 


	9. Choices

Ah ha ha! I did it! I posted this on time, no forgetting and complete. Whoo-hoo! Lol. Sorry, I'm tired and hyper and that's never a good combination. Last time, I said I was worried, well this time, I think you'll like it. It's one of my favorites. I had so much writing it during school in May. Hehe. Yes, this was written in May. That's why I can post regularly. By the way, I just finished chapters 14 and 15 of my second story. Four more to go, then I go to twice a week posting. Assuming there are chapters left in this story. 

**Bill the Pony: **Ah, okay. Sorry about the aborted story. You know, one can have so much fun when their characters fall alseep. *evil grin* 

**Grumpy: **Fun with sleeping rangers. Hehe. And I have no idea why ff.net keeps disappearing. It's ticking me off, though. I'm about ready to kill it, and if I didn't rely on it so much for my reading fixes, I'd abandon it. Well . . . Maybe not.****

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****Anyway, read read! Let me know what you think!*jumps up and down excitedly*****

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**Choices**

Aragorn looked around. He was not sure where he was, but it did not look like the tunnels he and Kalya had been traveling through nor the strange dream-world which had held him enthralled, so he was not sure what to make of this development. Nor did he know how to take the realization that he no longer hurt. A good thing, to be sure, but curious as he knew no reason why the pain would be gone. The healer in him simply could not accept it. 

He turned in a circle where he stood, the movement not all that different from the last time he had stood in an odd place, but unlike then the images that greeted him were not horrible. A copse of trees appeared to his left and was joined by others, which seemed to appear out of nowhere. He could hear the beautiful songs of birds and feel a light breeze on his face, caressing his hair. The air was warm and a feeling of peace enveloped him. He smiled and started walking into the trees. 

They were tall and fairly old, reaching up to the sky and out towards each other. Their green boughs blocked the sun from the sky and cast a cool shadow over the ground. Flowers and other small plants littered the ground from time to time, casting their own shadow and the occasional splash of color. 

He peered curiously around a copse of trees and found a small clearing with a birdbath in the middle, a small fountain sending the clear liquid down into the bowl, musical twinkling adding a feeling of joyful serenity to the already calm setting. Two blue birds--he could not tell what kind--were busy drinking and splashing in water, chirping contentedly and challengingly, sometimes splashing the other. It was a scene the ranger had not been able to enjoy in a long time and it soothed his weary heart. 

He smiled and walked on. This place, he could not remember it, and yet he felt it was familiar somehow for some reason he could not place. It was almost as if he was looking at this place through the eyes of another, possessing the knowledge of past association, but still in his own mind and lacking the intimate knowledge of one who knows their surroundings. It was a curious sensation that was beginning to worry him. Why would he recognize this place yet not know it? That did not make any sense. 

Aragorn continued walking, placing his hand against a tree to steady himself as passed into yet another clearing. Then something odd happened. The ground _lurched_ causing him to stumble slightly. The tree he was partially leaning against seemed to disappear, then reappear again in the flash of an eye. The world spun, colors blurring before reestablishing themselves before him. He blinked and struggled to comprehend what had just happened, but could not. He swallowed thickly before stepping into the clearing, wary of what might happen. 

He glanced around him, then turned back. Arwen stood before him, her black hair pulled back from her face in an intricate weave while the rest flowed gracefully down her back, curling a bit. A radiant smile lit her face, and her deep blue eyes, so old and wise yet young and radiant, sparkled at him, sending a rush straight through his body that infused him with energy. "Arwen," he murmured, walking towards her quickly. 

She ducked her head, a playful smile touching her lips before she glanced at him through her lashes. The weight of the ages seemed to be held in her gaze. "You are troubled." 

He frowned, a bit thrown by the sudden shift of mood from lighthearted to serious. "I don't understand." 

She laughed. "What's to understand?" 

Aragorn had no idea what to make of this: Arwen had never been so . . . flighty before, and his tired mind could not keep pace with her jumps of mood. He decided to take a different track. "What is this place?" he asked instead. "Where are we?" 

"Aragorn, do you not recognize your own home when you see it?" she asked coyly, her tone light and teasing. "You truly have been away too long." 

That seemed odd to him. Of course he was away for long periods of time, but then Arwen did not reside in Rivendell anyway. She would not be effected by his long absences for she resided in Lothlorien. That, then, presented a new question, so he asked it, hoping for a straighter answer than he had received so far. "Why are you in Rivendell, Arwen? Are not you staying with your grandmother in the Golden Woods?" 

"I'm here for you, my love. I want to be with you." Her expression was absolutely serious, catching the ranger a bit by surprise, for he had expected a completely different answer--or at least a different tone--though he should have realized whom he was speaking to. 

He smiled gently, taking a step closer so she stood only an arms length away from him. The man brought his hand up as if to touch her face but stopped short before he actually did and let his fingers lightly ghost over her face. She closed her eyes. "I want to be with you as well, my angel, constantly. You are the reason I go on." 

"I want to be your wife," she insisted, once again opening her eyes and pinning him within their blue depths, her love held clearly within her gaze. 

"I desire that, too, my beloved." 

"Let's do it now." 

He blinked. "What?" Arwen had never before proclaimed any intention to go against her father's wishes, and she had never asked Aragorn to follow similar action. That she would now express such a desire on something they had both formerly agreed to puzzled him far more than he would care to admit. 

"Let's get married," she clarified. "Now. We've waited so long. . . ." 

He shook his head slightly. "Arwen, your father--" 

"My father simply worries too much," she interrupted, moving the last distance to stand in his arms. "I know my heart. You are the one I love." 

"I must be King of the united kingdoms of Gondor and Anor before I can make both our wishes come true, my love," he reminded her gently, well aware of the reasons for Elrond's decision. It would be cruel to bind a woman to him only to die in the pursuit of his goal and leave her alone. He could never stand to do that to Arwen, even as he was aware that his death would be no kinder. 

"I care not for the throne. Only for you." Wide blue eyes pleaded with him to agree, to understand and accept . . . and he did--or he longed to, but. . . . 

"Upon my word I am bound," he told her solemnly, his words still gentle. "I could not tie you to me forever as I am, Arwen. You deserve more, so much more than I can give you now." 

"I need only you, Aragorn." 

He brought his fingers up to gently brush her cheek and smiled. "You have me." 

"Do I?" she asked. 

"Yes," he answered, completely confident in his answer, for in his mind he had always been hers and no one else's. 

She stepped back out of his arms and the ranger watched curiously. She raised her head slightly, then demanded, "Show me." 

Before he could respond, though, a sound behind him drew his attention and he turned to see lord Elrond standing on the other edge of the clearing. Turning back towards the elf lord's daughter--for what reason he was not sure--he found only grass and trees, the maiden herself was nowhere to be seen. Then his attention was called back to the majestic and ethereal being before him, the first words he heard surprising and confusing him. 

"Do you care for my daughter so little, son of Arathorn?" 

Slightly wide eyed, he replied, "I love Arwen, with all of my heart." 

"Yet you would bind her to pain, ensure her destruction." 

Aragorn blinked. Elrond had never talk to him so, not even when he had first discovered their relationship--such as it was. That he would react this way now confused him to no end. "Lord Elrond--" 

"Only pain lies along that path. You lead her to much sorrow." The elven lord's voice was hard, not gentle as he was accustomed to hearing it. 

"I would spare her such pain," he tried to assure, "but I love her." 

"Do you care nothing for her own feelings?" 

"She loves me as well!" he cried, scandalized by his foster father, and that prompted his next response. "I wonder if it is not you who cares nothing for Arwen's feelings!" 

"You forget yourself, son of Arathorn," Elrond stated coldly in warning. 

"Forgive me, my lord," he replied immediately, embarrassed by his outburst. "But surely she is old enough to make her own decisions." 

"Sure, though I wonder if you are." 

"I don't understand. I am well into the life-span of my people." 

"If you insist, you will take her away from her people." 

"It is her choice," Aragorn insisted, wondering why some nameless voice was jabbering away inside him, twisting fear through his belly and whispering that his father did not love him, that Arwen would leave him when she finally realized her mistake, and that none of his family had ever really loved him. 

"Do you really believe that?" 

"I must." 

A sound to his right drew his attention to that area and to his surprise, both Elladan and Elrohir stood looking at him. They wore identical expressions of blank amusement, the look they plastered on their faces when they did not want anyone else to know what they were thinking. He turned to glance at Elrond in order to determine what he made of this, only to stare at empty space. Again, someone he thought was still around him was gone and he could not place their leaving. He shifted uncomfortably before turning to look at the twins. 

"Hey, little brother," Elladan called out, his voice pleasant enough, but strange to Aragorn's ears, who had listened to him for years. 

"You need to be more careful," Elrohir chimed in. He took a step closer. 

Elladan followed. "We won't always be there to protect you." 

Aragorn frowned. Be where? What were they talking about? "I don't need your protection." 

"No?" Elrohir asked, as if that was the most novel suggestion in all of Middle-earth. The young ranger was even more confused by this turn of events. Why was everyone acting so strange? "You're not immortal, Estel." 

"I know that," he snapped, his voice coming out sharper than he had intended due to his frustration and confusion. Unconsciously, he took a small step back as they took another forward. 

"Do you?" Elladan pressed. 

"Of course." 

"But you need our help now, don't you brother?" Elrohir continued, their tones matching perfectly and neither one was pleasant. 

He looked between the two, concern edging onto his face. "What are you talking about?" 

He was suddenly sure the world dropped out from under him, for he felt he was falling, only to find himself still standing on firm ground. Wind rushed around his head and the trees all seemed to melt away, swirling together into a brownish black color and soon resolved itself into new images. What he saw made his eyes go wide, for the three of them had suddenly ended up on a battle field. Warriors rushed around them, brandishing swords or bows and arrows and rushing each other. Men and elves stood around him facing off against legions of orcs. Both sides were losing numbers quickly, but the allied forces were dwindling quicker and the orcs had the greater numbers. Pain filled cries filled the air. 

Elladan looked around him dispassionately, a slight, bitter smile pulling the corners of his lips. "So many dying," he murmured, almost dreamily. 

"What to do, brother," Elrohir questioned, his tone unconcerned as he looked at Elladan jauntily before turning back to Aragorn, his expression suddenly becoming far grimmer. 

"They die because of you," Elladan accused. 

"You led them here. Led them to die." 

"They die for you." 

"Because of Isildur's failure, the weakness in his blood. In yours." 

The twins continued to step forward slowly, their steps carrying them across the clearing even as the human they advanced on backpedaled, each condemnation pulling at his heart with razor sharp claws, tearing it to shreds, and the voice inside his head started gibbering louder. 

"Evil was allowed to remain," Elladan continued. "Flourish." 

"It waits." 

The elder of the two smiled. "You kill them all." 

"I-I," Aragorn stuttered. "What are you saying?" 

"It is your destiny." 

Elrohir smirked. "They will die because of you." 

"Sauron will kill them," Elladan finished. 

"Look." Elrohir and Elladan both swept their hands out to indicate the battle field. The orcs now outnumbered their enemies almost two to one and the beleaguered soldiers fell in the onslaught of superior numbers. 

"Poor Legolas," Elladan said suddenly, his voice mournful. 

Elrohir said mournfully, "How was he to know you would lead him to his death?" 

"What?" Aragorn cried, fatigue and heartache stealing any force from the demand. The dream was still painful in his mind, a knife in his heart whenever he thought of it for it had seemed so real. He could not quite accept that it had been _only_ a dream. 

"See for yourself," Elladan invited, again sweeping out his hand to indicate the direction Aragorn should look. 

The young ranger turned to look in the indicated direction, multitudes of warriors obscuring his vision and he could not find a single one that looked like his friend. He frowned, then the carnage around him seemed to clear and suddenly he had a clear view of his friend, fighting desperately against nearly a dozen orcs, his long knives in his hands as his only form of protection, completely cut off from any help that might have come his way. Aragorn could see others fighting nearby and knew that somehow he was not standing in the same spot he had been, though he could not remember moving, nor could he figure out how he would have arrived at this spot unmolested. Everyone seemed to be ignoring them. 

He watched as the elf parried a series of strikes before slashing the orc across his throat and taking him down. Another met the same fate but Legolas' quick movements were slowing, each parry finding its mark just a little slower, until finally, the elf missed a parry. Aragorn saw the moment clearly, stretched out before him like an eternity yet he could not move, and the blow would land before he reached the his friend's side. 

"NO!" he yelled, strength coming from somewhere, but Legolas did not hear him, nor did he manage to block the blow. The scimitar in the hand of the orc sunk deeply into the fragil-looking being before being roughly jerked out. 

Finally, Aragorn could move. He darted forward, leaving his brothers behind, watching as the fair-haired elf he had come to love as a brother sunk slowly to the floor among mud and blood and orc bodies he had slain. 

Just before the other hit the ground, Aragorn slid down next to him, and slipped his arms around the other's shoulders to support his head and cradle it to him. "Legolas," he whispered brokenly, his voice catching in his throat. Glazed and pained filled eyes slowly looked up into his, lacking recognition and the light he was used to seeing in them. Tears pooled in the ranger's blue eyes. "No," he tried again, hoping to deny what he knew was true. 

"Yes," Elrohir affirmed mercilessly. "Because of you, he will die." 

"There's no stopping it," Elladan seconded. 

"He would follow you anywhere." 

"Even to his death." 

Aragorn had been looking despairing into the pain-filled eyes of his friend that at the word death became glassy and unseeing--like the mere mention of the word had been all he had been waiting for--but now looked up at his brothers, tears streaking his cheeks at the second loss of his best friend. 

"Devotion like that is hard to find." 

Elladan smirked again. "You must be very proud." 

"Too bad it's wasted on you," Elrohir said, a matching smirk adorning his face, a mirror to his brother. 

The man's hands tremble, the pain in his heart begging for release he refused to grant; he would not cry. Against his will, he looked back down at Legolas and was suddenly transported back to his dream. _His friend's body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his eyes staring sightlessly far too wide to be sleeping, horror shining brightly in their sightless depths, chilling his blood even further. Blood pooled around him, soaking the ground that did not seem to be there and yet was. Too much blood. Some of it leaked from the side of the being's mouth, from the corner's of his eyes, his nose. A large spot colored his tunic, darkening most of the dark green fabric with its horrid stain. _The image from then, indelibly etched into his mind, merged with now, and he was looking at his best friend, Legolas. Dead. 

Sounds of battle had disappeared, all movement seemed to have ceased, nothing but the lifeless creature in his arms remained real to the young man. A single tear slipped down his cheek, escaping his rigid self-imposed control. 

Elladan nearly broke it. "To think, he only wanted to protect you." 

"And this is his reward." 

Elladan sighed. "Poor Legolas." 

"Pitiful Adan," Elrohir sneered, the words an echo from his childhood he had thought long buried, a pain he had thought long gone. 

"Can't even keep your friends alive." 

"So weak." 

"So fragile," Elladan murmured in agreement. 

"I can't imagine why father took you in," Elrohir mused, his tone somewhat thoughtful but enough to send another knife blade through the ranger's heart. He hoped he would die, that an orc would come up out of nowhere and stab him with his filthy blade, ending his pathetic existence. 

"You never were good enough," Elladan went on relentlessly, his words falling on deaf ears yet working their way into the human's consciousness to beat at his soul. 

"Never will be good enough." 

"Not for father." 

"Not for Gondor." 

"Not for Arwen." The words seemed to come from all around him, pressing him down into the ground, the cooling body of his best friend still clutched desperately in his arms. 

  
"You will never be strong enough--" 

  
Elladan interrupted, "--quick enough--" 

  
"--wise enough to be King of Gondor." 

"You will lead the Dúnadain to ruin," Elladan pronounced. 

Aragorn shook his head slowly, not in denial, but in helplessness. "How can you say those things?" he questioned his brothers--foster brothers, but he had long since stopped marking the distinction--his voice weak and lost to his own ears. 

Somehow, they heard him. "How?" Elrohir asked. "Because they are true." 

"You've always known it," Elladan condemned. 

"We just never told you because father thought he wanted to protect you." 

"Now he thinks as we do." 

"And knows that is a waste of time," Elrohir concluded. 

"That's not true," Aragorn denied, not really believing his own words. How could it not be true? He was worthless, pathetic, helpless. He could not even take care of himself, why would anyone want to be his friend, his family? Why would anyone want to love him? 

Slowly the world around him was growing darker, his hopelessness and despair eating away at his mind, destroying his resolve, and with it his grasp on life. 

"Of course it is," Elladan denied. 

Elrohir again backed his brother, their back and forth never faltering once. "You've shown everyone that you're not good enough." 

"It's a waste of time to look after you." 

"You're not good enough to be a member of the family." 

"Good-bye, brother." Elladan and Elrohir smiled. It was a cold smile, completely different from the smiles he had always seen on their faces and the malice behind the looks chilled his blood, looking odd on such fair faces. He wanted to yell, to scream, to plead with them not to abandon him . . . but he could do nothing, frozen in his spot with Legolas clutched in his arms unable to summon the strength to save his future. 

Then another figure appeared, this one as familiar as the first two, even though he seemed to appear out of thin air, and Aragorn watched apprehensively as Elrond stepped forward between his twin sons. The elder elf looked down on the human, his face expressionless, that in itself was not strange, however the utter lack of warmth was. Without knowing precisely why, the ranger's heart sank to his feet. He knew his heart, his very life, hung on what his foster father would say . . . and he already knew he was rejected. Elladan and Elrohir had said as much. He merely waited for the confirmation. 

Elrond gave it. "No more, Estel." 

With those words, the three beings who had been most important in his life disappeared and the world he had thought so beautiful when he arrived faded away to nothingness. Even Legolas faded away, and he clutched desperately at the insubstantial form, shaking terribly, a cry wrenching itself from his throat as despair took him. Painful, pitiful cries filled with pain and loss began to fill the air, cutting into his heart and riding whatever hope he yet held. He pulled in on himself, curling into a small ball and rocking back and forth. It was over. He could not go on, he had no reason to. He was not good enough, but he had always known that. His family, the last family he had . . . was gone. 

Then whatever paralysis had struck him before was gone, and he began to cry softly, desperately, for his family to hear him. "No. No, father. Please, I-I'll do better. Please. . . ." 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

"NO!" 

Kelt jerked awake with a start, her eyes flying open as she sat up, moving towards the ranger even before conscious thought, for her mind had been dwelling on him for hours, her heart troubled by his pain. His helplessness had pushed aside the conflict within her, the healer in her not able to stand the sight of his suffering. She knelt next to the prone figure and gently brushed a hand over his forehead, using the motion to push away a few strands of hair which had stuck there. 

Sweat beaded his forehead as he jerked and turned restlessly in his sleep, then stilled. The tightness in his features, though, precluded any thought that he might have recovered from whatever horror he was witnessing in his mind. 

"Oh, Strider," she murmured softly. "I told you to stay awake." 

She watched him carefully as he started to calm down, his movements slowing. Someone less experienced might have thought he was out of the woods, the worst of his dream--or nightmare--over now that his movements had calmed. Kelt, however, knew better. She checked his pulse. It beat wildly beneath her fingertips, racing far too fast for her comfort. He needed to wake up. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. No response, so she did it again. Then again when she still received no sign that he had felt a thing, this time a little hard than the previous two. Still nothing happened. 

"Come on, Strider," she encouraged, knowing she truly needed to get him awake, but not quite sure how to accomplish it. "Fight it, Strider. You have to fight it." 

She still got no response, but he did speak. "How can you say those things?" The pain and anguish in his voice clutched at her heart, nearly bring tears to her eyes but she forced them away; she did not have time for tears, not if he was to live. It was not the pain nor the anguish that worried her though, it was the despair, the hopelessness that coursed through the question that sent fear shooting through her veins. If he gave up, not even the antidote would save him. 

"Say what things, Strider?" she tried. "Who is talking to you?" She expected no response. 

His head tossed slightly, his lips moving, then, ". . . not true." The denial lacked conviction and Kelt knew that it was simply a token defense, something he felt he had to do instead of a conviction born of the knowledge that something where he was was not right. She bowed her head, her fingers still against his neck to track his pulse. It had slowed drastically. "No. Father, please. . . ." 

"Don't despair, Dúnadan. Come out of the shadow," she entreated, still not getting through and well aware of the fact. "You can, I know you can." 

The ranger continued to mumble deliriously and the young girl frowned. She was not sure what she should do--indeed what she _could_ do--and so simply grabbed a bowl and put water in it, and using a small section of cloth proceeded to wipe his forehead, hoping to soothe his troubled sleep, knowing in the back of her mind and heart that it would never work--_could _never work, not against the drug. She closed her eyes painfully as the murmurs continued, pain increasing with every word. Despair's grasp increased with every moment, and the man's chances of pulling through decreased with every tortured word. 

"I'm Aragorn. Aragorn, my name. Please. . . . Alone. . . . Can't do anything right. anything. . . . Arwen. Father! No, don't leave. Come back. Don't . . . leave--me." A broken sob ended the plea, choked out on a desperate breath as the other's breathing had also slowed with his heartbeat. She reached forward to feel it and found it threateningly weak. 

A small battle took place inside her mind, halting her hand from immediate action. The herb that would end the drug's effects was not in her possession and she could not wake him. Without the drug, she needed him awake so the drug could not torment his unconscious, yet he would not respond. She could give him a stimulant but there was no guarantee that it would wake him, and no guarantee that it would not do more harm than good. Still, if he did not live, the effects of the stimulant would be a moot point. 

The girl turned and began to dig quickly through the pack by her side. Bottles were discarded with little care as she frantically sought what she was looking for. Minutes passed that seemed an eternity while at the same time flying by far too quickly and taking the ranger's life with it. 

Finally, her hands uncovered the desired objects and she sat back, pulling the vials with her, one a rustic gold and the other a light red, their colors not easily told in the flickering light of the fire. She uncapped them and their scents revealed themselves to her and confirmed their identity. A nearby bowl was dumped and the two vials dumped into in measure--all of the first and half of the second. Kelt flickered her wrist in a circular motion, swirling the liquid, then soaked a square section of cloth that she had also pulled from the pack and set the bowl aside. 

Fearful eyes darted up to take in the sleeping ranger's face, noting the sweat that sheened his face and beaded upon his upper lip, the ragged pace of his breathing, and the slight trembling in his frame that could almost go unnoticed and would have if the observer had not so keen sight. Kelt pulled the small dagger kept in her boot from it's sheath and held it briefly over the flame, sterilizing it for what she needed to do. Then she brandished it carefully in her right hand, the medicated pad in her left, and paused slightly to pray her actions would not go astray. 

Only once had she lost her patient, a small dog, a puppy that had wandered too far from home, who had been shot with an arrow laced with a poison she did not know, but the circumstances were far too similar for her liking, and her hand halted as her mind whirled with agonized indecision. Then, before she could change her mind, she moved forward and made a small incision in the ranger's arm before pressing the soaked cloth against the wound and allowing the potent mixture to seep into his blood. Had he been awake and not caught in tortured dreams, he would have cried out. As it was his body jerked against the intrusion. 

Her brow creased with worry; she watched his face urgently. "Come on, Strider," she encouraged softly. "Wake up. Wake up." 

Strider--no, Aragorn, she reminded herself, her mind flashing to the words she had heard spoken by the man before her not so long ago--tossed his head fitfully from side-to-side, a moan escaping his lips. The hand she held to his neck found the beat of his heart, a beat that was steadily increasing as his restlessness grew. She feared she had made a mistake. Then he stilled, all movement ceasing as Kelt held her breath, praying he would keep breathing. 

Suddenly, he sat up, jerking quickly out of her grasp and gasping, his hand going to his head. After a few moments, in which Kelt recovered her own breath and calmed her heart, he spoke, "What did you do?" 

"Gave you something to wake you up," she replied carelessly, masking how concerned she had been. It did not matter to her if he lived or not. It could not matter. "Come, Dúnadan, we're moving." 

Without waiting for a response she moved away to re-gather their supplies and pack them away. She finished quickly and looked expectantly over at Aragorn who had not moved from his position save to rest his head in his hand. "Moving will help the headache," she announced when it became obvious he was not going to move. 

The other's head snapped up, his eyes flashing. "Where ever would you get the idea that I have a headache," he snapped, his voice just as sharp and he climbed to his feet, quicker than Kelt would have guessed he could move. 

She regarded him steadily for a moment, her face betraying nothing. His balance seemed fine, lacking the disorientation she had come to expect as one of the side-effects of Shirk's favorite drug, which seemed to her a good sign. In any case, it would do well for them to begin moving again; it was likely that Aragorn would not be this able ever again. She forced carelessness into her voice and said, "Well, then, since you obviously feel fine we'll pick up the pace. We should reach our destination in three days." _Hopefully ahead of our pursuers._

She turned and heard Aragorn fall into step behind her. Together they traveled further into the tunnels, one hoping to escape the pain and the other hoping her charge was as strong as he appeared. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Nirt carefully scanned the floor of the cavern, searching--in vain, it would seem--for footprints or some other sign that would point out which direction Kelt and that Ranger had gone. So far, she had come up empty, which had not pleased her boss not at all. 

_Of course_, she thought furiously, _it would be Kelt that has to be found_. Arguably the best tracker the Slyntari had boasted in more than a century and unarguably the best at concealing the signs that would give her away made her difficult to keep track of. That, coupled with an annoying independent streak that defied explanation, made her almost impossible to find, especially when she wished not to be. Had the search been up to Nirt, she would have called the whole endeavor off and dismissed it as a waste of time--which was part of the reason why she would never enjoy a command post of any kind--save for one thing: there was another with her and he was injured. 

It had always been easier to find the girl when she was with someone else. Few could match her in moving stealthily and her companion invariably made some mistake which gave them away. That the one with her was a ranger could have been a problem, themselves very capable of moving without detection, except that he had been poisoned and that that poison would make him careless. Plus, if Kelt was trying to protect him, he would prove a distraction and perhaps, just perhaps, that would be enough to cause her to make a mistake. Nirt just wished she would do it sooner rather than later. Chasing that one through dark tunnels was not her idea of fun. 

She frowned as she caught sight of orc activity in the tunnels coming from an adjoining tunnel and continuing on the way she was headed. Her lips curled in disgusted anger. If they had come this way, there would be no telling it now: the orcs would have completely spoiled any signs that may have been left by her quarry's passage. With a disgusted snort, she turned and headed back up the tunnel to the randevous point to report her findings. She comforted herself with the thought of torturing the orc band she had found witness of if they lost their quarry. 

"NO!" 

The cry stopped her in her tracks. It was quiet, but after the more or less absolute silence she had been walking in for the last couple of hours, it split the air like a firecracker at a summer celebration--something she had seen one year near the Shire. She listened and knew that it came from somewhere further up the tunnel in the direction she was traveling. She started running. Shirk would know where to go now. The hunt was on. It was just a matter of time before Kelt and the ranger were dead. And before that . . . they would play. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elladan paused and looked up from the ground, searching the surrounding area with keen, piercing eyes. He thought he had heard something . . . felt something. 

He frowned. Nothing was near. He wondered what had become of his human brother, who had not returned to camp last night. He and Elrohir had decided to wait on any action since the human could be quite testy when he felt his brothers' were hovering and treating him like a child. Both elves were willing to admit that he was more than capable of looking after himself and tried to back off--most of the time. 

Just this minute, however, he was regretting the decision to respect his brother's skills. Something dark was pressing on his mind, a shadow that had been growing for many hours. 

Despite his unease, his knowledge of what they were hunting for, and his better judgment, he kept working his way further south, away from where he had last seen Aragorn. Unknown to him, further up the mountains, Elrohir did the same thing. 


	10. Tread the Darkness

Hmhmm. Well, it's that time again, and I'm back. Be excited or be scared, I won't accept anything else. *smirks* All right, I'll tell you up front _I'm_ not happy with this chapter. It could be so much better, but I can't do it without major revisions that I don't have the time or inspiration for, so it's how it is. I hope it's not too disappointing. My view is simply not completely realized, but no matter. I hope you like it anyway. 

Chapter 10 means there are five chapters after it. We're nearing the end. *waits out cheers and boos* That is both good and bad. Good, in that we're getting closer to the sequel with Legolas in it, for those of you who are anticipating our favorite elf. Bad, in that we're getting closer to the sequel with Legolas in it and I have not got it finished. Hehm. I've reached a stumbling block, basically, and have just added school into the mix along with volleyball, which starts Monday. Fun, fun. That, and I've been corrupted by Harry Potter, which means I'm writing a little on that and it's distracting me from my wonderful--*hears coughs from some of the readers* Uh, entertaining, story. 

Er...right. Now, after my customary word to my wonderful, delightful, always appreciated reviewers, we can get onto this next chapter, putting you one more chapter closer to the end--though perhaps not all that much closer to the answers you desire. *winces* Most of the explanations come in the next story, I think. I really can't remember, but I think that's the way it ended up. I'll know for sure when I go to proof-read the remaining chapters. Hehe. Sorry in advance, though that gives you the perfect incentive to continue reading. Hehe--um. Right. 

**Grumpy:** Hm, yes, multiple baddies. Wonder who will reach them first. Glad you enjoyed. 

**Bill the Pony2:** Ooh, identical twins cousins. Yikes. I don't know if I should apologize or cheer. Freaking people out was, after all, the idea. After all, why should Aragorn be the only one to suffer? "Wow" is always a good thing. *smiles widely* Thanks, so happy you enjoyed. 

**Tereza:** Ah, forgiven. And I love writing Elladan and Elrohir because they can be so much fun. And who said Elladan and Elrohir were going to rescue him? *looks expectant* Ah, this started out as a crazy whim, was written in my head, and was simply completed before I started posting. Posting it was a crazy whim, too, by the way. Lol. It's going so much better than I thought it would. 

Now, on to the chapter. Enjoy. (I hope I didn't mess it up when I made the changes. Sorry if I did.)****

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**Tread the Darkness**

Silence hung in the air as the two companions made their way through the long dark tunnels, the flickering flame from the torch held aloft their only light. They had traveled for many hours at a quick pace and, by Aragorn's estimation, covered at least three leagues, though he was finding it difficult to measure and he had long since lost track of the passage of time. He was tired but he would not admit it. Pride would not allow it though he ached and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his legs moving forward. 

He frowned as he stumbled slightly, glancing almost guiltily at Kalya to see if she had noticed. If she had, though, she made no sign and he breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to be weak. Isildur was weak. 

He closed his eyes painfully and reached out to brace a hand against the cave wall to keep his balance. Memories flooded his mind, sending pain shooting through his heart, stealing his breath. Why could not he be normal? Why did he have to carry a destiny that was too large for him? Why did he have to hurt everyone he loved? Why did they have to suffer because of him? He stumbled again and barely bit off a curse that would have given him away immediately. 

"We'll rest here," Kalya announced suddenly, stopping before he could protest and propping the torch against the wall. The sudden stop nearly sent the man sprawling across the floor. 

He glared at her. "I'm fine. We should move on." 

"You are not fine. That was the fifth time you've stumbled in as many minutes." 

His eyes narrowed. She had known of his weakness. "We gain nothing by stopping. You said yourself I cannot sleep, so we should move on." 

"You must rest even if you cannot sleep." 

"I want to--" 

"Aragorn--" 

"What did you call me?" he demanded suddenly, advancing on her, his eyes flashing. 

Surprised, Kalya tried to back up and found she had no where to go, her eyes flashing in what appeared to be fear. He stopped. She licked her lips in a gesture of nerves he had never seen before from her. "Aragorn," she declared, her voice steady. 

"Where did you hear that name?" he continued dangerously. 

She hesitated briefly before answering. "You claimed it in your sleep while you were dreaming. I heard you say it while I was trying to wake you." Her blue eyes, dark in the dim lighting, watched him intently, but Aragorn took no notice. 

She knew his identity. He was supposed to keep it a secret. He had proven his weakness. He turned away from her, stumbling to the far wall. He was a disgrace. He could never be king, never. The people would not be able to trust him. He had given his word. He would tell no one, no one could know. His mind whirled in a circle before grasping onto one thought: his family was right to disown him. 

He gasped and fell to his knees, his hands moving to press against the sides of his head, hoping to hold it together. 

*_"You never were good enough" _

__

_"I can't imagine why father took you in."_

__

_"So weak."*_

He hissed slightly between his teeth, pain flooding through his body, forcing him forward as he sought to ward it off. He folded in on himself, hoping to escape. The world around him dimmed. 

_*"Do you care for my daughter so little, son of Arathorn?"_

__

_"Do you care nothing for her own feelings?"_

__

_"They will die because of you."_

__

_"Evil was allowed to remain." _

__

_"Because of you, he will die."_

__

_His friend's body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his eyes staring sightlessly far too wide to be sleeping, horror shining brightly in their sightless depths, chilling his blood even further. Blood pooled around him, soaking the ground that did not seem to be there and yet was. Too much blood. Some of it leaked from the side of the being's mouth, from the corner's of his eyes, his nose. A large spot colored his tunic, darkening most of the dark green fabric with its horrid stain.*_

A hand touched his back, but he barely noticed it. The pain. . . . 

"Aragorn," a voice called and he focused on it against his will. The darkness called him. It could give relief from this pain. "Aragorn, you must focus on me. Focus on me and the pain will ease, I promise, but you must leave the darkness." 

He looked up at Kalya with bleary eyes full of pain. 

She smiled at him encouragingly. "That's it, Strider, focus on me. We are going on a walk, there is nothing to fear here. No one will find us hear. No worries." 

He focused on her, forced himself to listen to the words she spoke and slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to diminish. Eventually, he got his breathing back under control and the pressure in his mind eased. 

Kalya shifted and sat crossed-legged on the floor before him, her gaze intent. "It takes you, the darkness. You must fight it or you will die. If you do not fight the shadows will take you and there will come a point when I will no longer be able to draw you back." 

"I do not want to be drawn back," he told her testily. 

She seemed unfazed. "It feeds off of your insecurities. Any fears you hold are fair game. The visions will only get worse before the end, even if you do not fight. The only difference shall be that you will never wake. What you see in your visions is only your fears, not truth itself." 

"You do not know what I see." 

"Tell me." 

He looked away. Images flashed before his eyes. "I cannot. It is too painful." 

She was quiet for a long moment. "Who are you, Aragorn, that you would hide your name?" 

He hesitated, thinking through her request. He was not supposed to tell anyone, lest the information fall into the hands of evil, yet he was dying. Kalya had admitted as much herself. Once he was dead, the information would be able to hurt no one for there would be no use for it. He had given up hope, there was no reason to withhold the information from someone he could not convince himself not to trust. There was nothing more she could do to him anyway. He leaned back against the rock wall. 

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir and heir to the throne of Gondor," he intoned wearily. He was staring straight ahead and so missed the shock that danced across Kalya's face. 

She stared unseeing at the wall across from her. _Isildur's heir_, she mused in horrified fascination. _I was supposed to find him and found him by accident. Now I have given up my life to save him and I was supposed to kill him. I would have killed him and never known it_._ Where does that leave me?_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Nirt ran up to the group gathered in a circle around something on the ground. Adrenaline coursed through her bodyand everything seemed sharper to her somehow. She slowed down as she reached them and two of the group moved aside to let her in. Her first look around revealed what held everyone so enraptured. 

Shirk knelt beside a map spread out on the rocky ground of the mountainside, studying a map which represented their best estimate of the locations of the various tunnels running under the surface--a map which was probably largely incomplete; no one knew where all the tunnels were, nor where all of them went. It was a labyrinth which would take more than one person multiple years to fully explore and uncover every single passage beneath the Misty Mountains. Luckily, such a feat was not necessary for their purposes. Nirt could see it in Shirk's posture, in his bearing. He was excited . . . satisfied. 

The being looked up, both fair and terrible at the same time, a contrast incredible to see, his gray eyes flashing with inner fire, burning with the intensity of the sun; it was no wonder he was followed, no wonder he was feared. His eyes held hers and he smiled, an expression which sent shivers up her spine of an unidentifiable emotion. "We have her," he declared, his voice low and menacing. "She is before us but we will reach our destination first." 

"My lord?" 

He looked to the south, his gaze unfocusing slightly, the expression long familiar to her, then he looked back. "She will make for the Hidden Pass. It is the only location in this region where the herb necessary to save the human grows. She will need it to save him and will go there. We will be waiting for her." Nirt smiled as well, his excitement becoming her own. He glanced at another man beside him, his look bordering on feral before he stood, commanding the attention of all. "Come. We make for the Pass." 

The group stood and watched as their leader took off in the indicated direction, most following immediately on his trail. Nirt took one last look around her, a strange sense that something had been overlooked sweeping through her. 

Torl came up and stopped next to her. "We'll be there in two days." 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Both sat silent but for different reasons. Kalya was the first to rouse herself, shaking off her thoughts, having decided to ensure he lived through this. Shirk no longer deserved her loyalty, that much she was sure of. And if Sauron wanted him dead, that was reason enough for her to want him alive. After that . . . well, she would decide when it came to after that. "Come. You are right, we should keep moving." 

Aragorn looked up as Kalya stood, stooping to pick up the strap to her pack and the torch. She looked down at him and raised an eyebrow imperiously. He attempted to smile and climbed to his feet, his movements unsteady. A small hand steadied him. 

He focused on regaining his balance and pushed everything else away. Every emotion, every image, everything that he did not need, far away into the darkest reaches of his mind, away from his thoughts. When that was done, he felt better. 

Somewhat back to himself, he looked at her. "Will you tell me who you are now?" 

Her eyes clouded and she looked away. "I do not know." 

He frowned. "Surely you must know." 

"No, I must not, for if I did you would be dead." She started walking once more, and he followed. 

"Explain." Her answer made no sense to him. 

She glanced back at him and sighed. "You know, I suppose, that I am not what I have said, or not all that I have said. I know Shirk . . . personally. My 'experiences' with the Slyntari come from the fact that I am a member of the group." 

It was his turn to be surprised. "You are Slyntari?" 

She nodded. 

"And the Slyntari are trying to kill me?" he asked. She nodded again. "They why did you save me?" 

She glanced at him, then started walking faster. "I do not know." 

"You like that phrase," he observed, matching her pace despite his fatigue. 

"It is the truth." 

He was silent a moment, contemplating this new information about his companion. She was the enemy and yet she had tended him, cared for him, protected him. He had told her the truth about his heritage. Was she trustworthy? 

Again his head screamed no and his instincts screamed yes. He briefly touched his fingertips to his forehead. Constantly being pulled in two directions was deterimental to one's health, he was sure. He would give just about anything to breath fresh air again. "Where are you taking me?" 

She glanced back at him and that same measuring look he had noted earlier was in her gaze. "To Rivendell." 

And suddenly, he knew why she had hesitated before answering. The name, the memories that went with it sent a burst of pain through his mind, making lights flash and curl before his eyes. He stumbled. 

Kalya caught him, and he clung to the feeling of her hands against his skin as a basis to reality, needing something to ground him. As the pain resided he heard, "Trust yourself, Aragorn. Do not listen to the shadows for they have ever hidden truth from sight." 

He blinked as he looked up at her. That was an Elvish saying. How did she know it? She must have seen the question in his eyes, for she spoke. 

"Walk with me, Ranger." He started walking and she began talking. "I suppose you wonder how it is I know Elvish sayings when I, though you only suspect it but cannot put the suspicion into words, serve Mordor. Where would a servant of Mordor learn Elvish ways?" She smiled briefly, a sad, lonely smile that was more revealed in her eyes than anything else, and he only saw it because she had glanced back at him in that moment. "Simply because my mother was an Elf. She taught me the ways of her people, hoping they would become my ways that I might defy the Shadow. For her kindness, I gave her death." 

She paused and he waited. One thing he had learned among the elves was when to stay silent and simply listen. Now, he knew, was one such time. "I did not kill her, not literally, but I may as well have. It was for my sake that she died. I hated her, despised her, but I would not leave well enough alone. Something kept drawing me back. Even though I knew I was not to see her, I returned time and time again to hear what she would say and ridicule her sayings and beliefs." Her voice was calm and steady, lacking the emotions he would have expected from such a tale, though he could tell the memory saddened her, if only through a slight change in her demeanor. 

She sighed. "The odd thing is that I think it gave her peace." He could not see her face, but he noticed that her posture was not so tense as before. "Somehow, the fact that I kept returning comforted her no matter what it was I said. Looking back, I know she was comforted that I returned. It gave her hope. Hope that the darkness had not won." 

Aragorn walked silently for a moment, then prompted, "And now?" 

"And now," she looked at him with a frown. "And now, I do not know. I hope she has the peace she deserved." 

The ranger merely nodded at this, sensing she wished to leave this topic of discussion. He felt he would gain more from her by letting her set the pace. _Kalyamuina, indeed_, he thought. _Your mother named you well. I can feel the light you hide. What will it take to draw it out?_ He watched the ground as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, one hand tracing against the wall. He wished she would speak for the silence left him too much room to think, and his thoughts always spiraled away towards darkness whenever they were given the chance. 

"How do you feel about dying in a cave?" she asked suddenly, the abrupt question slicing through the dark silence. 

He regarded her a moment, then replied, "About the same way I feel about living in one," though it had been awhile since he had contemplated the matter. The last time had been in Legolas' company. 

"How is that?" 

He stubbornly focused on the words, tuing out the memories. "I wouldn't want to unless I had no other choice." 

She chuckled. "Same here." 

He smirked, a decidedly elvish prejudice striking him and he said, "Good." 

He caught curiosity in her eyes when she turned to look at him. "Why good?" 

"Wouldn't want to die with a cave dweller," he replied. 

A snort reached his ears. "No dwarves, then?" 

"Would you?" he asked, catching something in her voice that made him ask. 

She shrugged. "It could be comforting." But her tone was too casual for him to believe she actually thought that. If her mother had been an elf, he wondered how many elvish prejudices she had picked up, as well. 

"Or not," he countered, pausing as he thought on that for a moment. What would a dwarf likely do? "They'd probably brag about how the dank darkness has no effect on them, then insult you as a coward." 

She snorted again. "You've had experiences with dwarves, I see." 

"Charming folk." 

"Indeed. But, Aragorn, these caves are not dank. They're dry." 

He shook his head slightly and remained silent. She, too, let the conversation fall away. He was pretty sure she had no wish to carry on a conversation and that she would much rather have silence. But he also had a hunch that she was aware how tortured his thoughts were when he had any length of time to dwell on them. She had said, after all, that she had had experience with this drug. It was quite possible that her experience had been much the same, or that she had wished for someone to relieve her of the pain of her own thoughts and that she sought to do that for him now. He wished he could think of something to ask. 

She beat him to it. 

"Strider?" 

"Hm?" 

"Why Strider?" she asked. 

Pain lanced through his mind, though not as sharp this time. The memory was too far removed from his pain to be overcome by the darkness. He smiled softly, remembering that time so long ago. "Inside joke," he answered, distractedly. 

"Inside where?" she asked, but he was not listening. 

His thoughts had already turned to the past, hundreds of miles away from their current location. It had been in the forests of Mirkwood, the outskirts, actually, the result of a battle between orcs and dwarves. He had, quite literally, fallen into the other's life, and he would not wish it otherwise. If he knew his friend, and he was pretty sure he did, then he knew Legolas would not wish it otherwise, either. 

"Strider." 

He laughed as he realized she had been calling his name for at least the past couple of moments and he had been lost in the exact thoughts he had been hoping she would distract him from. Briefly, he wondered why the thoughts did not pain him, but he refused to dwell on it. "You should meet him," he commented. 

"Meet who?" she asked with a frown. 

"Legolas," he answered. 

"Legolas?" she repeated, her tone thoughtful, as if she was searching through her mind for some piece of lost information. "Thranduil's son?" she continued after a moment. 

"Him," he confirmed. 

She glanced at him sideways, turning slightly. "He's from Mirkwood." 

"Indeed." 

He caught a slight frown on her face and smiled a little. He was surprised the shadows were not haunting him any more. He wondered why but pushed it aside when she responded. 

"Wood-elves don't like men." 

"Indeed," he said again, voice bland. 

Kalya glanced back at him, irritation flickering across her face before settling into a mask of non-concern. Deadpan, she intoned, "You are a man of many secrets, Strider." 

He cocked his head slightly to the side, his expression innocent. "You noticed?" He was enjoying this game. He could not remember a time when he had had so much fun with a maiden. Still, he was not sure he could classify this one as a maiden. 

A slight smile pulled at the girl's lips. "Indeed," she replied wryly. He resisted the urge to laugh and mostly succeeded, a slight smile the only sign of his struggle. He looked up sharply, though, when she spoke again, caught off guard. "Explain Strider." 

"Explain what?" he asked, confused. 

"Strider." 

"What?" 

She glared at him but he saw amusement sparkling in her dark eyes. "You name, human," she clarified. "Explain your name." 

He half smiled at the use of the slur _human_. He was sure she and Legolas would get along splendidly, if for no other reason than they could both pick on him. He answered, "Strider means one who strides." 

The figure before him made no answer and had in fact started walking slightly faster so he could no longer see her face. After several moments, he prompted, "Kalya?" 

"I wonder about you," she said, the comment coming out of absolutely nowhere. 

He frowned. "You do." A question in the form of a statement, not entirely sure he wanted to understand. Such statements from his brothers usually meant trouble and he wondered if it was the same for her. 

"I do," she acknowledged. 

He swallowed and braced himself. "How come?" 

"Pick a new question." 

"What?" he asked, startled. 

"Doesn't work," she responded. 

"Huh?" 

"Are you giving this any thought?" 

He blinked rapidly, quite lost. The ranger had absolutely no idea what it was she was talking about. Whatever it was, though, seemed to be amusing her greatly for he caught barely restrained laughter in her voice. He bit his bottom lip briefly, then ventured a response. ". . . no?" 

Kalya laughed heartily, the first he had heard from her, then threw a smile back over her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, human." She paused a moment, then stopped and turned to face him. Before he could act, she spoke. "How do you feel? I need you to be honest." 

He blinked, then took an inventory. He had been so focused on the pain in his mind that he had completely ignored everything else, and the banter between them had made him forget, at least for the moment, even that. He had a feeling that was why she had engaged in the verbal sparring in the first place. He blinked again, his forehead furrowing. "Not so good. Headache, mild cramps, somewhat chilled. Why?" 

"The more physical aspects of the poison are catching up with you." 

"I thought you said it won't kill me," he reminded her. 

She nodded and started walking again. "It won't." 

"You mean I don't just have to deal with those insane visions?" he demanded. 

"We've been over this," she answered. "You're actually doing well to still be able to walk at this point." 

He blanched, then resumed his pace. "Oh, great. I suppose I should feel comforted." 

She smiled slightly at his sarcasm. "You could. It's a good thing." 

"Nothing concerning poison is ever a good thing," he countered, his voice flat. He had too many bad memories with the foul substances to consider anything having to do with them good. 

"Well," she hedged. "It could be worse." 

Aragorn chuckled tiredly, amused in spite of himself. Then another thought occurred to him, and before he could stop himself, he spoke. "I'm going to be in trouble," he said. 

She looked at him incredulously. "You mean you aren't already?" 

He smiled, then deadpanned. "Father--Elrond's going to kill me." 

She snorted and turned about. "Then he'll have to get in line, Ranger, for you seem to have gained the ire of quite a few people." She continued walking. 

That thought was not exactly encouraging to the tired young man and his steps slowed slightly. Shirk was after him. The poison was not fatal according to Kalya, but he could still die from it, and he had the rest of the Slyntari after him as well. 

He frowned, wondering where his brothers were. He wondered if they had noticed he was missing yet or not. Truly, he was surprised they had not turned the mountain upside down looking for him. Distracted, his hand drifted up to massage his head, where the steady pounding was beginning to make his vision blur. 

"Come on, Aragorn." 

He glanced up. The ranger had not realized that he had stopped. Kalya, though, had and had come back. She now stood before him, the kindest expression on her face he had seen yet and he knew he could trust her. Until this moment, he had not been convinced she was trustworthy, but he had a feeling the shadows he had seen were more a defense than anything else, a way to ensure nobody got too close. He thought he would enjoy trying to pry information out of her. It could be fun. 

"Come on," she repeated. 

He nodded. "How much further?" he inquired, not sure he wanted to know, but habit forcing him to ask. 

"Not far." 

He shook his head. "I've heard that before," he told her, desperately trying to take his mind off the newly awakened pain he had just been made aware of by her question. He would have to remember to thank her for that later. 

"In a cave?" she asked doubtfully. 

"Of sorts," he answered. 

She nodded slowly. "What happened?" 

His lips twisted slightly. "It wasn't 'not far'." 

She glanced back at him and the expression on her face made him laugh, which did not help him at all, since his shoulder where the arrow had pierced him had begun to hurt though he could not imagine why. Luckily, it did not last long and he was able to straighten up and continue walking. He shot her a dark look. "Don't make me laugh," he charged. 

She looked blandly back at him. "I didn't say a word." 

"Don't make me laugh," he repeated, determined to get an agreement from her, though he could not imagine why. 

"Why?" she asked, now overly innocent. 

"Hurts too much," he ground out, breathing deeply through another brief round of pain. He hoped this was not a trend that would continue long. 

"Why Strider?" she asked. 

"Because I've been poisoned," he told her, his tone suggesting that should be the most obvious thing in the world. 

She laughed, a quick sound that reminded him distinctly of elves and he shook his head to clear it, for it had sounded to him like more than one elf laughed. Her tone was amused when she spoke. "You were named Strider because you were poisoned?" 

He snorted and shook his head despairingly. Her sense of humor was worse than his. "We need to work on your conversational skills," he told her. 

"I learn what I want to know," she told him blithely, then raised an inquiring eyebrow. "So?" 

"How did I get the nickname?" he clarified. 

"That's what I asked," she confirmed, suppressed laughter in her voice. 

He mock glared at her. "You know, if you keep holding that laughter back, you're going to hurt yourself." 

"I think I'll manage," she answered breezily. "I believe you have a story to tell, Ranger." 

He shook his head, but obliged. It was not like he had anything better to do. Losing himself in the memories, he proceeded to tell her how he had met Legolas all those years ago, years that seemed more like decades with all that had happened since then. His first outing that had culminated in a fall through a tree seemed so simple compared to what he was going through now. The mistrust that had formed a barrier between their friendship was long gone and for that he was grateful, for he knew he would never be able to stand losing Legolas' friendship. He finished describing the orc attack and concluded. "A contingent of Mirkwood warriors appeared and killed them all. I felt then about the same way I feel right now, actually. Anyway, when the others asked who I was, Legolas knew he could not tell them my birth name, so he called me Strider for my 'haughty gait'." 

Kalya laughed heartily at this, her amusement still showing through when she spoke, making her voice thick. "Telcontar," she mused. "Ah, there are worse things." 

Now it was Aragorn's turn to laugh, the fact that Legolas had used practically the same words striking him as hilarious. "Yes, and he was kind enough to point that out, too!" he declared through his mirth. 

"Oh, indeed?" 

"Yes. He even gave me some examples." 

She chuckled. "This I have to hear." 

"Striver and Wanderer." 

At that she started laughing so hard that she had to stop walking, reaching out with her right hand to brace herself against the wall and remain standing. He had not thought it was all that funny, but watching her collapse against the wall and slide down it he came to the decision that she did. The young ranger was not sure if he wanted to be offended or amused, but was tending toward the latter as her amusement was becoming contagious. 

"Oh all right," he finally said. "It was not that funny." She looked up at him helplessly, making absolutely no effort to stop laughing. He frowned in mock consternation. "Fine," he declared. "I'll go on without you," and stalked off. He got ten paces before he heard movement behind him and a breathless voice. 

"Come now, Strider--" a helpless burst of giggles-- "it's not my fault I'm deprived." 

"Depraved, you mean?" He countered. 

"Besides, you can't go off along. The mountain trolls will get you." 

The man turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Mountain trolls? There are no mountain trolls here." 

"You never know," she taunted, finally regaining control and approaching him. "Today might just be your lucky day." 

At that, Aragorn rolled his eyes. "If this is luck, I don't want it." 

She cocked her head slightly. "Well, look at it this way, son of Arathorn: if your luck was worse, you would not have survived so many bad encounters to be able to face the next one. You would already be dead." 

"I'll let you know later if that isn't a good thing." 

Kalya laughed, then turned and looked at him, grabbing his arm in order to force him to halt. Keen blue eyes regarded him seriously, all trace of the playful, mischievous girl he had just been talking to gone beyond any hope of recovery. The lack of expression on her face was almost worse than any expression of anger could have been, and yet he was not worried. Not yet. He felt that if she was going to kill him, she would have done it already regardless. Strangely, he felt at peace. She nodded once, as if whatever she had seen confirmed something she had thought. 

The girl pulled him over to the wall and pressed him down into a sitting position. "You need to sleep," she declared. 

"I can't sleep. The drug--" Aragorn objected, but he never got to finish. 

"Dwells on your insecurities. If there are none for it to plague your mind with, you will be fine." She paused slightly before plunging ahead. "The catch is that you will have to trust me." 

He looked at her. Trust her? To do what? Could he? Did he want to? He bit his lip as he considered, then realized he already knew the answer, and wondered when she had proven that she was worthy of his trust. "I do," he affirmed. 

She nodded, then quickly dropped down beside him and pulled his head into his lap, causing him to frown at her in confusion. She explained before he could ask. "I must guard your dreams," she said. "My mother taught me how. Elvish song is very powerful. Fuume, mellon nin, ar uume kuare. (Sleep, my friend, and do not fear.)" 

Without conscious thought or decision, he felt his eyes begin to drift close, their weight becoming too heavy for him to fight, all the stress and activity finally and irrevocably catching up to him. He drifted off to sleep, distantly noticing that her voice had changed, her tone containing more authority than he had ever suspected it contained, it's quality more on the level of an elven lord. . . . 

Before he drifted away beyond recall, a soft voice, like silver, drifted into his consciousness: 

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

_silivren penna míriel_

_o menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-díriel_

_o galadhremmin ennorath. . . ._

And after the first line, it seemed to mix and blend with the voices of many others, all singing in harmony, and he floated on a silver cloud, far from harm or the possibility of darkness. 


	11. Don't Call Us

Oh, hey! Well, it's Friday again, and since I haven't forgotten once more, you get the next chapter. It's a wonderful thing. What would be even more wonderful would be if ff.net stopped playing around. I'm currently pissed. Stats currently holds my reviews at 28, but the little thingy to get into the story says 30. I can not read, find, or coax two reviews into my possession to read them. As a result of this horrendous violation, there are two reviews I will not be able to respond to. 

That said, I'm reasonably well satisfied with this chapter. If they're getting boring and you want more action, it's coming up in the next chapter or so, I think the thirteenth. Anyway, I'm really anxious about those because I've never really been able to write action scenes. They either end up really short or really crappy, and you lucky people get to tell me which. But not yet. Hope you enjoy. 

**Bumper:**I'm glad you liked that part! I wrote it in school, and it just happened, but I thought it was funny, so when I was going through the dialogue I wrote while I was bored, I thought I would include it. Useless information: the actual dialogue of the last two chapters was finished about two weeks before I actually got to the chapters. Lol. 

**Nell-Marie:** Welcome to the club! Lol. Oh, that might be taking it a bit too far, but I'm glad you enjoyed the story. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when people say they liked it. I never considered myself perceptive, but if you do, I guess I did something right. It's really good to know exactly what's enjoyed. Then I can repeat it. *g* 

**Tainted Fortune:** You're the first person I've ever know of to come in late and review the beginning chapters. Truly unique. And you're also welcome. Mmm, well, the story is completed, as you'll likely know by the time you get here if you read my little introductions, and you'll likely know who "she" is by the time you get here, too. If you don't, let me know and I'll explain it, though maybe I wouldn't be the person you needed to talk to....*g*****

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****Now that I've responded to all the peopleI can respond to, I'll release you to enjoy my creative art. And for the information of those interested, I'm about halfway through chapter 16 of the sequel with three left to write. 

Enjoy!****

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**Don't Call Us . . .**

Once Aragorn had awoken an undeterminable time later--at least as far as the human was concerned, the two companions had started off again, moving at a quick pace. Neither spoke, Kalya struggling with the weariness so little sleep had caused and Aragorn considering what he knew of his new friend. It was not much, but he figured he would have plenty of time to examine the little clues and reach a conclusion, as "soon" was not likely to be soon enough to stop him from thinking. 

As he reflected, he realized that last night had been the first truly peaceful sleep he had experienced in far longer than he cared to admit. He was still surprised the shadows had not returned to plague his dreams yet was thankful for it just the same. He wondered what, exactly, Kalya had done. He knew his father could put him to sleep, but so far as he knew, the elf had never guarded his dreams. Whatever it was, it must not have been easy. 

He shot a quick glance at the girl who walked before him yet again, carrying a torch. (They had decided after the first couple of hours that they really only needed one to light the path and had put the other one out. The unlit torches were currently stuffed among the luggage to be carried, the most important items stuffed into the bag on Kalya's shoulder.)It was difficult to tell, but he thought the other looked exhausted, her shoulders a bit more stooped than before, her step a touch heavier, almost seeming to drag along the floor though it remained as quiet as ever. He was sure whatever she had done had not been conducive to a restful night and wished he could convince her to stop. 

That, however, had proven quite futile. The one time he had suggested it, she had shot the idea down like it was an orc who had just jumped into her path from behind a boulder, quickly and without mercy. Not that he could truly blame her for he agreed with her assessment of the situation, still. . . . He hated it when others suffered because of him, for him. It hurt deep inside for he could not stand to see others in pain. 

Still, he kept moving and stayed silent, knowing full well that she would not stop, and that the only way to insure she would rest would be to reach their destination as quickly as possible. He hoped it would be sooner than he thought and that they would find no trouble once they did. An uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, however, was doing a commendable job of killing that particular hope. Besides, with his luck, he knew better than to entertain any serious ideas that he could ever possibly escape trouble. It was like he was drawn to them, or them to him. Either way, it was never good. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. One good thing at least, was that his concussion finally seemed to be going away and his ribs were mostly healed. The arrow wound remained, and would, Kalya told him, until the poison could be eradicated from his system. He was told it was a miracle it had not been a severe wound or the bleeding might never have stopped no matter what had been done and created a whole different problem than the one they faced now. If that had happened, he would never have had to worry about the shadows which plagued his mind, he would never have lived long enough to reach that point. Or would have been far beyond reaching by the time he did. 

He glanced again at the girl before him and frowned. What had she done? Why did the darkness no longer plague his thoughts? He thought he knew why she had suggested he sleep then, the darkness had been partially dispelled--he could see that now--though he knew not what the cause had been. That, he supposed, was the real question. Why had the darkness lost its hold? 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt trudged along silently in front of the Dunadan, a rare occurrence indeed as those of elven descent rarely trudged, and yet she did, fatigue pulling at every corner of her mind. Rarely had she extended herself to guard another's dreams--their night terrors being of course their own problems--and never against a force so persistent as the Ungwale in the ranger's system. She was grateful for his silence as she was not particularly sure she would have been able to answer coherently just this moment. 

She resisted a sigh as she considered how she had ended up in this mess, then stifled a curse as she stumbled slightly on a small stone she had managed to overlook. She could just imagine the look on Shirk's face, and scowled darkly at the air before her. 

She had been doomed, of course; from the moment she had unconsciously, instinctively saved Strider's life, she had been hooked. The instant she had begun to tend his wounds, to care for him, she had been ensnared beyond all hope of redemption, no matter what platitudes she told herself to the contrary. She cared for him, loved him even, after a fashion, and could not bear to see him suffer. Had never, in fact, been able to long endure the suffering and pain of others, a fact she had previously given little thought as she had been able to cover it up, and even now shied away from it, afraid of what it could possibly mean. 

  
Chancing a quick glance back at her silent companion, afraid he would determine he did indeed wish to talk, she was pleased to note he had not noticed her stumble earlier and actually appeared to be quite deep in thought--actually thinking, too, instead of brooding. Pleased beyond any measure she would ever care to admit, the young one returned her attention forward, marking the passage of the tunnels and the time unconsciously and leaving her thoughts free to travel--against her will--down many varied paths. 

Then, suddenly, she no longer traveled through a cave under the Misty Mountains. She was in a dark room, small and enclosed, locked with no escape; a scared little girl who had done nothing wrong save being born into a world that held no mercy and little kindness. Her step faltered, grinding to a halt and nearly dropping her to a ground as her momentum sought to keep her moving forward, her eyes dilating despite the fire light and for a moment--just a moment--eyes peered at her, shadows moved just beyond her vision and she was not alone with a ranger but locked in a room with monsters too terrible to imagine. 

"Kalya?" A gentle hand grasped her shoulder. 

She inhaled quickly, just managing not to jump, then banished the shadows back to the room they had escaped from and looked at the man who had turned her world upside down with an action she should have been grateful for. Worry and concern, emotions she had only ever seen in a few eyes, stared back at her from grey-blue depths. She breathed out slowly, releasing her anxiety with it and tensed muscles relaxed. "I'm alright." 

He searched her gaze for some kind of answer and she held still, wondering if it was a good idea to let him get so close, though it was not physical proximity she was worried about. She had suffered no one near her for so long, could she truly-- 

  
She looked away abruptly, and pulled out of his grasp. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw his startled expression but could do nothing about it. She could allow no one near her. They all died. He would die. Shirk would kill him, just like he had killed her parents. "We must move on," she announced tonelessly, even as a small part of her mind rebelled at the idea of moving on. It insisted they were safer staying still. A lie, she knew, a comfortable lie made by a small little girl who was still trapped in a locked room hiding from monsters. 

She started moving again and was relieved to hear Strider following. The last thing she wanted to do was have to answer more questions right now. A sad smile pulled at her lips; yes, her mother had been right. She had been right about many things, this not least of all: _"You can not run from the past, my dear. It always moves faster than you, and sooner or later it will catch you. You will stumble or find yourself trapped with nowhere to go and it will catch up with you. Then, you have a decision to make: you can either let it overwhelm you, or you can fight back. Only you can make that choice."_ She hated caves. 

After a few minutes, she relaxed, thinking the ranger was content to go back to silence. She should have known better. 

"Are you happy?" 

"What?" she asked, confused by the question and unable to stop herself. Against her better judgment glanced back at him. 

He smiled slightly. "Are you happy?" 

"Doing what?" 

"Working for Shirk, for Sauron?" 

She looked away, back at where she was going and sought to deflect the question. Well had she learned not to question, it was simply better that way, and she was not about to start questioning her feelings now. "Does it matter?" she asked instead. 

"Yes," he insisted. "Are you happy?" 

She frowned, thoroughly annoyed with the ranger who had saved her life. She did not want to talk, especially not about her emotions since that involved delving into areas she dared not travel. She did not want to think about it . . . but in this, also, she was doomed. The question had been posed, and whether she wanted to or not, she had to think about it. Her traitorous mind had the tendency to work that way. He fell silent, and she fell into memories. Was she happy? 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn waited a few minutes, giving his companion time to think about a response. From her tone of voice, he would guess she was rather annoyed just this minute and figured that pressing an answer would not be precisely beneficial to his health. 

To pass the time, he started examining the gray walls, looking for variations, anything, that would mark distance in the uniform tunnels. The rather discouraging thing was that they were not even smooth tunnels and were actually fairly rough, yet he still could not tell one section from another. He could not understand how Kalya seemed to know exactly where she was going. Tunnels which told him nothing apparently told her where she was. He frowned slightly, wondering where she had learned so much about these little used tunnels. He bit his lower lip momentarily before coming to a decision. 

  
"So?" he asked. 

Kalya looked back at him, a glare marring her fair features dark enough to send a thrill of fear skittering down his spine . . . until he realized there was little real anger behind it. "Are humans always so persistent?" she demanded. 

"Yes," he replied as if the answer were obvious, then raised an eyebrow in inquiry. 

"No, I suppose not." She looked away from him, staring down the tunnel before her. He wished he could see her eyes to know what she was thinking. 

"You could do something different," he observed, seeking to learn more about her thoughts. 

She shook her head somberly. "Not so easy." 

"Never so easy," he agreed readily, "but you could still do it." 

She was silent for a few moments, possibly thinking about what he had said, but in the end, it was not convincing enough, for she said, "I would never be given the chance." 

"How come?" he wanted to know, or at least thought he did, not that he wanted to give the matter much thought. 

The silence that followed made him question asking, then, "Slyntari are very possessive. Once a part of the group, one does not leave . . . alive." 

"They would have to find you first." he pointed out. 

"One does not hide long from some of the best trackers in Middle-earth," she countered. 

"But could not one who knows tracking also avoid detection," he insisted, refusing to just let this go since she seemed willing to continue the debate. It seemed important to him, somehow, that he get through to her, as if there was something that had to happen. 

There was a brief pause. "I could not run for the rest of my life, Strider," she told him. 

He shook his head, despite the fact that she could not see him. "You do not have to." 

"I will not hide." 

"Perish the thought," he allowed glibly. 

"There is no way," she insisted. "One cannot run forever even if they wish, and all hidden things are found, eventually." 

"There is always a way," he insisted, his tone brooking no room for argument. "One just has to find it." 

"Are you always so incredibly, overwhelmingly optimistic?" she asked, the frown apparent in her voice though she did not turn. 

He laughed. "Perhaps this optimism is how I got my namesake," he mused without really meaning to. 

Now she did look at him. "Do tell," she ordered, the first true interest he had seen in her since they had met, not forced for his benefit nor hidden, apparent in her voice and manner. Perhaps that meant she was moving further into the light. 

He decided to continue and spoke again as if she had not. "Or how my namesake got me." 

Kalya rolled her eyes and looked away. "What is it?" she asked. 

"Estel." 

"Hope?" she asked, her tone once again amused. 

He confirmed it. "Yes." 

She was quiet for some time and he let the silence be. He figured she would again fall into silence and they would continue on without speaking. He was surprised, then, when she spoke only a few minutes later. "It fits," she announced. 

"What?" he asked, somewhat startled and a bit confused. 

"Estel," she clarified. "You are the Hope of Men." 

He clenched his jaw and made no reply. The Hope of Men . . . yes, he had heard that before. Elrond, in fact, had used those very words when he revealed the young man's heritage to him not even ten years before. He remembered being proud to have such a high heritage, but that was before. Before he realized the very real weight of such a responsibility. It was a burden he knew he was not strong enough to bear. Isildur had been a stronger man than he and he fell to the darkness. It was incredibly unfair to be hope to others when there was no hope for himself. 

He looked up when he felt the weight of someone's gaze and found piercing eyes focused on him. He frowned. "What?" 

"You are their king," she said, and he caught the unspoken question. If he was their king, why was he out here? Why did no king sit on the throne in Gondor?" 

He looked away. "I cannot be their king." 

"Why not?" 

Grey eyes darkened as the shadows again rose up inside of him, pushed on by the drug flowing through his system. "You know of Isildur and what he did--or didn't do. You know what my ancestors have continued by their weakness." 

He saw understanding flash through her gaze, but not the sympathy he usually saw from his father or brothers when they spoke. "You are not them." He was slightly surprised that she nevertheless spoke the same words. 

He ground out the next words even though he desired to speak no more of it. It was as if some outside force had overtaken his body and was forcing him on despite his deepest protests. "The same blood flows through my veins." 

"Similar," she agreed, "but still different. That difference could be enough." 

"But it also could not." He wished she would stop speaking, then he would have no reason to keep delving into this horrid topic. He did not wish to speak of his heritage. He had spent _years_ not speaking of it. 

"And yet it is your destiny." 

"I will not be king!" he snapped, his temper flaring briefly, though it garnered not so much as a flinch from his companion. Then more quietly, almost to himself, "The risk is too great." 

"Without risk there is no achievement, no great men." 

He looked up at her, anguish clear in his eyes. "I am not half so great as my ancestors and they failed. How can I hope to triumph where they could not?" 

"Because you must," Kalya answered simply. "If the darkness is yours to face would you really turn away from it? You do not strike me a coward, Aragorn." 

The dúnadan looked away and said nothing. She, like his family, would never understand that he could not accept the fate of so many into his hands. He could not condemn so many for his folly, if folly it was. He hoped--again--that she would leave him be. And again he did not get his wish. 

"Your people need a leader, son of Arathorn. I have seen them." 

Anger and frustration welled again inside him. "As have I." 

"Yet you leave them to fight the darkness alone," she continued without any consideration for what the words did to his heart. 

"They are better off without me as leader," he declared. 

"Not from what I have seen," the young Slyntari countered. 

"You have not seen much," he said shortly, his voice clipped in anger. 

He would never say she was not perceptive, no matter what, for she surprised him with her answer, though he could not deny that she had seen through him, and he wanted to. "Self-pity does not become you," she told him haughtily. 

"Nor you," he shot back, knowing that she would not be able to deny that, either. She did not. 

The small silence that followed told the ranger that he had hit his mark with the barb, just as her next comment showed that she was not yet willing to call game. "You cannot run from your destiny forever," she declared, her voice uncompromising. 

"I am not running," he ground out through clenched teeth. 

"Nor can you hide," she continued without missing a beat. "It will find you eventually. Will you be able to face it when it comes?" 

He turned away yet again from her piercing gaze. They seemed to see straight through him and he did not want her to see him, judge him, and find him lacking. His heart would not be able to bear it. Confronting her, it seemed, was getting him no where. Perhaps a little misdirection would work where direct conflict did not, so he changed the subject. "When we get out of here, will you come with me to Rivendell?" 

She hesitated, thrown, he thought, by the question. Any hope he had that she would be distracted from her intended conversation, however, was fruitless. "Will you accept your destiny?" 

He glared at her. One so young should not be so annoying. "It is not that simple." 

She looked at him, her gaze clear. "Now you understand," she intoned. 

When they had stopped walking, he could not say, but he watched, dumbfounded, as she turned away and began walking once more. He wondered if that had been her goal all along but felt he would never know. But he did understand, and he thought--just maybe--she understood his dilemma as well, as no one else had. Everyone thought it was a simple matter, easily taken care of by simple choice, one that seemed obvious to all but those facing it. Yes, she, of all who had discussed his destiny with him, understood. He was sure of it. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Silent figures flooded into the valley, moving quickly among the broken stones and shattered greenery. Bows were out and arrows drawn as the many beings sought to catch anything that moved before it caught them. Anxious eyes swept the area, half expecting to be ambushed, yet nothing moved. 

A tall, regal, completely silent being moved onto the scene and the others snapped to attention, clearing the way for him when he walked, yet anyone could tell it was no mere man. 

Keen eyes scanned the area, and a small, cruel smile stretched across his face. "Secure the area. Make sure nothing breathes without our knowledge." Figures scattered to comply. "No one is to know we are here. Kelt is not stupid. She will know we should be here. Do not underestimate her, nor the one she is with. Take them, and take them alive." 

The area cleared out quickly, quicker than any man would have thought possible. Yet in the space of a few heartbeats the valley was as clear as if nobody had ever been there. Shirk looked around carefully, elven eyes scanning the area for anything out of place. Finding nothing, he smiled. 

_Come, little one. Master's waiting. Now you will call me Master, and no body's here to save you this time. . . ._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The rest of their journey was conducted in silence, the anger still a tangible force between them and, though much diminished, it still strained their companionship. While before the silence had been preferred, now it was required. They had stopped for Aragorn to sleep briefly and continued on their way. Little more than a day was left in their journey through the mountains and she wondered if the foul mood would carry over into fresher air. 

Kelt sighed. Angering the ranger had not been her intention. In fact, she was not quite sure what her intentions had been in continuing that conversation. She just knew Aragorn, heir of Isildur, had to assume the mantle of leadership and that would not happen if he refused his responsibilities. Of course, it also would not happen if he were dead. 

  
Discreetly, she brought up a hand to rub at her temple, which had begun to throb quite painfully. Elvish blood helped her heal, and her ribs no longer truly bothered her, and her concussion was all but gone, any cuts long since healed, but her current lack of sleep was doing nothing to aid her. The stress she found herself under due to the drug in Aragorn's system and the shadows growing in her mind made the situation easier not at all. _Sometimes_, she thought, _it really does not pay to get up in the morning_. Except in her case, that morning had long passed, for she would have to go back to a time before she had even seen the ranger to find a time that was not tainted. 

She was tired and she knew it and knew Aragorn knew it. He would have had to be blind to not know for she had been stumbling more frequently of late, her steps unsteady in a way they had not been even when she was injured, and was was most certainly not blind. She had caught the odd looks he sent her way whenever he thought she did not see. Fatigue, though, she could deal with. Were this just simple fatigue she would have no problem. No, this was a combination of many things and lack of sleep was only one of them and a minor one at that. 

More trying were the shadows of the past which contact with the Ungwale in Aragorn's system had resurrected. Far too frequently for her liking, she found herself looking twice at a shadow, thinking it was more than it was, a monster from her dreams. 

That, while the most trying, was not the one that troubled her the most. It was the shadow growing on her mind, warning of trouble that was truly the worst, for she could not place what the warning was. That uncertainty, and the struggle to erase it, while still functioning with the other problems, was causing her headache, and she was still no closer to identifying the impending threat than she had been when she began the attempt. 

Kelt frowned, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind insisting she was overlooking the obvious answer. She _hated_ those feelings. 

A crossroads with several tunnels branching off the one they walked brought both to a halt. She watched out of the corner of her eyes as Aragorn walked forward and stood next to her, watching her. He wanted to know which way to go, she knew, but she could not tell him. Sometime during their trek, concerns other than what their path was had consumed her attention and pushed out that crucial information. She had thought there were still several leagues before they were to come to this intersection. Was there another one she had forgotten? Blue eyes scanned each path in turn, searching for a match in her memory and coming up blank as her headache intensified, a frown scrunching up her forehead, and her surroundings seemed to waver out of focus like she was about to black out. 

"Which way do we go?" Aragorn finally asked. 

She passed a hand over her face, hoping to wipe away some of the stress, and again looked at the various tunnels. She could not think. Which way? She could not afford to be wrong. "I do not know," she whispered. Never before had she feared the darkness, not even after the drug except in dreams, but now she found herself paralyzed, fearful of moving lest she plunge everything further into the dark with one foul move. And still she could not say why she cared. The dark was what she served. . . . Was it not? 

Confusion swirled through her mind. She could not think, could not decide. She was startled when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder, starting slightly before her mind focused enough to remember Aragorn's presence. It was even longer before her eyes managed to focus on his face. "I don't know where to go," she murmured helplessly. 

"Yes you do," he denied calmly. "You know, but you must be calm. There is no hurry, Kalya, no pressure. Just relax and let the knowledge come." He swept his hand down her arm in a calming gesture, his presence steady. 

Slowly, the bowstring tension relaxed from her lean frame and she trembled ever so slightly with its release. Kelt returned her attention to the tunnels and passed her gaze over them once again, allowing her senses to take over her mind. Her eyes drifted half closed and she released all her worries, easing the mental burden she had assumed hours ago without her direct knowledge. At ease, she suddenly knew exactly where she was and where they now needed to go. 

  
She turned toward the third door from the right, and froze. Images flashed before her eyes: startled blue eyes, an arrow protruding from living flesh, angry elven eyes flashing with hatred, a dozen beings, surrounded, helpless. And knew. 

A quick glance back at Aragorn, intending to suggest they turn back or take a different route, but in that moment she realized the Hope of Men had no hope except the one path that led to death. There was nothing she could do to change it. She turned back around. 

"This way," she announced, her voice expressionless as she struggled to determine what action to take. She started walking. For now, there was nothing to do except go forward. The steady foot falls of the ranger marked his presence behind her. 

Kelt measured the distance in her head, and the speed of their travel. She had eight hours to figure out how to save the king of men from the poison that threatened his mind and the doom that awaited him at journey's end. _Right. Then I'll blow myself up and come back to life, a living relic that rids the world of evil_, she thought sarcastically. She looked up, towards the stars that she could not see, wishing for some of the wisdom her mother had always talked about, had always held even if she would not see it, had always insisted would be there if she but searched for it. Yet now, when she truly needed it, she found the stars were silent. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elladan looked up, truly realizing for the first time in days how far south he had traveled. Rivendell lay not too much further and he nearly panicked at the thought that he had seen neither of his brothers since after he and Elrohir had decided to give Aragorn his space. What if something had happened to them and he had been too far away to hear it? They could be dead for all he knew, and then what would he tell Ada? 

He swallowed and looked around, noticing that he was very near a pass, one of a few in this location, even though it did not go all the way through the mountains. He wondered where Elrohir was. Perhaps, a small part of his mind tried desperately, just perhaps Elrohir had already found Estel and both were perfectly fine. 

Unfortunately the elder twin knew his human brother far too well. The human had a knack for finding every being who could ever wish him harm no matter how far from civilization they were, or how close. The elf seriously considered strangling both his brothers when he finally found them for causing him so much worry, but knew that no matter how angry he was with them, he would settle for simply finding them again, alive and well--no matter how unlikely a prospect that seemed. The danger they had come out hunting was too great to hope that Aragorn would be well. 

The dark-haired being shrugged, then continued on towards the pass. It could hardly hurt to stop by, after all. He was no where near finding either of his brothers standing where he was and had no place he could think of to check. Plus, he had heard it was very beautiful. Besides, who knew, they just might have had the same thought he did. 

On that note, and clinging to a hope he did not particularly feel, he made his way over the crumbling rocks and rotting vegetation, along with the few weeds who clung desperately to life, towards the dark line he could just make out in the distance that signaled the pass. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elrohir looked around. Rocks, plenty of rocks, stretched out around him in every direction for as far as he could see. Not far, admittedly, since he was in a depression which severely limited his range of vision, but that did little to diminish the impact of the vision. He sighed and once again began to climb, hoping that this time he would finally reach a point where he could see something--anything--other than rocks. 

The dark-haired elf reached the top of his chosen escarpment and looked around. A small frown appeared on his fair face when the sight that greeted him was no different than what he had been looking at for the past two days. It deepened when he turned and saw a break in the more or less uniform gray that surrounded him. He was not sure whether what he saw was an improvement or not for he could not tell what it was. 

The being thought for a moment, then sighed. He had been traveling for days with no change in scenery. He had lost his brother--both of them, though it had been longer since he had seen Estel than Elladan. Really, he had nothing to lose, so with resigned curiosity, the elf began making his way toward the darker splotch near the horizon that he had caught sight of. With any luck, which was looking doubtful, he would reach this anomaly before another day had passed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The exit from the cave appeared before them as a pale white glow in the distance. Kelt heard Aragorn sigh in relief behind her and nearly smiled--his dislike of caves was distinctly elvish--though she could not share his relief. Her own feelings of apprehension had only grown as the hours and leagues melted away. She wondered if she should tell the human what was likely waiting for them outside the caves. He had a right to know yet she could not quite bring herself to speak of it, perhaps afraid to voice her suspicions lest she somehow conjure them before her. 

Still, they continued forward, on towards their doom--Kelt felt--and she said nothing, but the tension in her frame had to have betrayed something or else the human also felt some kind of warning for she felt him tense as well. 

She paused and looked back at him, his gaze catching and holding her own. "Are they out there?" he asked. 

She nodded. "I think so." 

His gaze strayed to the opening, through which one could just make out the lush greenery and colorful plants that lay beyond. "Do we have a chance?" 

She followed his gaze. Her first instinct was to tell him no, they had no chance. They were dealing with ruthless individuals who tortured and killed people for pleasure. Beings like that did not leave two enemies, two who had betrayed them, alive. Yet, something else told her that was wrong. She shook her head slowly. "There is always a chance." 

"Then lead on," he said, seeming to steal himself against what was to come. 

Kelt watched him for a moment, her respect for this one raising a notch, even as her pity and despair threatened to send her into a dark pit that would be nearly impossible to recover from and ensure their demise just as surely as an arrow from Shirk's bow. She shook herself and continued her way towards freedom--and the trap she was sure lay on the other side. 

She feared not even the ranger's newfound resolve would save him now. 

They emerged into the outside world and fresh air for the first time in far too long, by the accounting of both travelers, the bright glow of the sun overhead momentarily blinding them. Not that it mattered: Kelt felt the others around them. They were surrounded and her heart sank even before she heard Shirk speak. 

His smooth voice, accented by anger and full of deadly promise, rolled out from the brightness beyond, greeting them in elvish. "Welcome to the Tumna Falqua, friends. We have been expecting you." 

More than a dozen arrows were pointing at them from every side, their only escape being to retreat back into the caves they had just left, which would only delay the inevitable. Against every instinct inside of her, Kelt stood her ground and did not fight when some of her own stepped forward and relieved both her and Aragorn of their possessions. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the ranger flexing his fists. Capitulating, obviously, did not sit well with him, either. But what else could they do? Fighting would get them no where . . . but neither would giving in. Both led to death. 

Yet where there was life. . . . 

Their arms were bound securely behind their back, the ropes digging painfully into their skin and led away, further into the pass. Something inside whispered wait, and she could only obey and hope it knew what it was talking about. At Shirk's mercy was a place she did not care to be, and a place she had gone to great lengths in the past to avoid. He would enjoy this, and she had led the both of them straight into it . . . with her eyes open. She shot Aragorn an apologetic look and he merely shrugged, smiling slightly in return. 

Their attention, however, was soon returned to the man who held their fate in his hands. "Kelt, Ranger: it was so good of you to join us," he said smoothly. "Now we can . . . play." The grin that the Slyntari graced them with sent shivers down Kelt's spine. It was an expression she had seen many times in the past, and it never meant anything good. She saw no reason why that should change now. Shirk was not known for his kindness. 

After she and Aragorn were secured against a tree and the various devices Shirk always carried laid out before them, Kelt decided she would rather not already know what to expect. The look in the dúnadan's eyes suggested he also had a very good idea what to expect and also wished he did not. 

When Shirk stepped forward and picked up one of the tools--a nasty looking corkscrew-curved blade, Kelt wondered if this was what her mother had meant when she had informed her daughter that one day she would press her luck too far. The wicked smile on her leader's face seemed to confirm it. 


	12. Sacrifices

Hey hey! Next chapter. I'm completely disillusioned with ff.net. It bugs me, and school is starting to stink. I hate science. Period. It doesn't matter which one: biology, physics, chemistry. . . . They're all the same. Now, though, that's not what I want to say. 

It took me forever to re-read this to make sure it's postable. Well, technically, it's not. I could make it so much better. But, as I'm busy and don't want to make you wait, I will post it as is. When I get the time and the inclination, I may change it, who knows, but this is it, posted for your enjoyment. 

Hmmm. I think I may have said I was half-way through chapter 16 last chapter. I meant chapter 17, and I'm finished with it now. It just has to be typed up. I'm working on 18, and depending on how it goes, I may be adding another chapter so that it totals 20. That's long for me. Seriously. 

Just a warning: Kelt/Kalya is more the major character in this chapter and the next. That is not to say that Aragorn is not in them nor that he is unimportant, simply that he is . . . Indisposed at the moment and most of the action falls to his companion. *g* But don't worry. He gets his own action before the end. A bit more than he would wish for, too. . . . 

**Noriel:** I'm so glad you like it! My twisting conversations? You mean those exchanges that require serious thought to keep track of? Lol. *smirks* Someone who actually likes my sense of humor, it's a miracle. Hehe. 

**Nell-Marie:** My reading references come through in my writing, I think. I hate short chapters, so I make sure mine are long. *g* Dialogue is so much fun. . . . Yes, fun. . . . 

**Grumpy:** A good cliffie? . . . Is there any such thing as a 'good cliffie'? 

**Bill the Pony2:** Always good to hear from the dead. Strange, but still good. Glad ya liked. 

**Endril:** You're in luck! I'm updating today. Lol. Aragorn angst is my favorite. Then, of course, there are those little moments where Aragorn's angst creates angst for other chacters (namely Legolas), and those are even better. *evil grin* 

It's so wonderful to hear from all of you. My newbies and repeaters both. For one thing, I cannot judge my own work. I always think it stinks. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love hearing from all of you. 

*huddles slightly* Please don't leave me. *stares at them with wide eyes, horrified that she spoke that out loud, then runs quickly from the room, the door slamming behind her* 

*door opens once more and a head peeks out* Enjoy!****

****

**Sacrifice**

Aragorn watched as Shirk approached Kalya and dragged the tip of the blade he held down the side of her face, drawing a line of blood. He twisted his hands in their bonds and found them secured quite well above his head; he was going no where soon unless it was decided by his . . . host. He could not help her. 

The ranger blinked, suddenly realizing the attention had now turned to him. Looking into Shirk's face--ancient eyes wild, pointed ears, fair complexion--he wondered why he had wanted to risk attracting his attention in the first place and how Kalya could stand it. Still, he set his jaw and met the other's gaze evenly. 

"You choose the most interesting friends, selde," Shirk told her, an intense fire in his eyes. Aragorn saw his friend tense and twist and just knew the girl would love to strike the elf that taunted her. 

Her eyes darkened. "At least my friends don't stab me in the back, leuke," she replied, her voice far calmer than he would have thought by her expression. 

The elf before him smiled, the expression far from pleasant, and raked his fingernails down the side of Aragorn's face. "That's what I love about you, Kelt; your fire." A hand beneath his chin forced the ranger's gaze upward. "And this one," he announced, "is more resilient than I would have thought." 

The two captives watched as the other walked away and disappeared from sight. Apprehension twisted its way through his gut, tying knots wherever it was able. Aragorn looked over at the girl, who looked sick. "What does that mean?" he asked, for once absolutely positive that he really did not want to know. 

"That means you get another dose of Ungwale," she told him, shadowed blue eyes turning to him to gauge his reaction. 

The ranger dropped back in his bonds, going limp even as he went numb. What this new bit of information entailed, his mind refused to translate. Everything seemed distant and he thought that only happened after he had that one pain-relieving drug his father was so fond of giving his patients when he--for once--did not want them to sleep. It had never happened spontaneously before, making the phenomenon important. He would have to remember to tell father, he thought. Slightly confused blue-grey eyes looked up at the elf's near silent approach. 

Shirk held a small vial in one hand and a knife in the other. A wicked grin pulled his lips away from his teeth, and Aragorn knew from experience that anything that gave one such as him so much pleasure, would only give him just as much pain. He swallowed hard but could do nothing to stop what he knew was coming, even though he still had not processed what exactly that would be. 

Somewhat detached, he watched as the other cut open his shirt to find the old arrow wound that had mostly healed. The vial was placed in an easily accessible pocket that looked to the ranger's eyes like it had been placed there for that exact purpose. Then the being used his right hand to probe the wound, none-too-gently before digging into it with the tip of the knife and sending fire racing through his veins. The very small, very distant part of his mind that was still lucid realized the drug had been on the knife, and that same part managed to wonder how he had missed that particular action. His back arched against the pain, finding no relief, and his vision swirled. His muscles tensed, contracting too far, feeling as if they were going to tear in two at any moment. His world funneled down to the pain and he only vaguely noticed the elf before him was still there. 

Shirk grinned and looked at the other captive. "Men always react so interestingly to this particular drug, don't you think." 

"I think you are insane," Kalya offered in a conversational tone, as if she were merely commenting on the weather though her expression was tense. 

Eyes darkened by hatred regarded her for a moment, head cocked slightly to the side. A slow smiled spread across his face, eyes blazing. "It's been far too long since we last played, Kelt. We can't let the Ranger have all the fun, you know. And now," he moved up next to her, his face beside hers as his breath caressed her ear and neck with every exhalation, sending shivers of disgust down her back, "there's no one here to protect you." He stepped back and called two others to him. "Remind Kelt what it means to betray us," he ordered. "Make sure she lives. I want her to see the Ranger fade into shadow." 

He walked away, and even before he disappeared, the crack of a whip could be heard, and the whistle of objects moving quickly through the air, followed by either a snap or a swish. Quiet hisses joined the symphony of sound but no cry broke the air. Pain glazed blue eyes stared out, tracking the path Shirk had taken, anguish haunting their depths. From the depths of his pain, Aragorn watched as well, and the shadows deepened. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt took slow, deep breaths in an attempt to distill the pain that coarsed through her system. Her former friends still knew their stuff, she decided as the pounding in her head increased when she tried to move it. 

A quiet whimper to her right informed her of Aragorn's presence. _The drug must be working again,_ she mused. With that thought, she finally managed to open her eyes, slowly. Blurry images floated before her and she blinked to try and clear them. It was a long time before they resolved themselves into trees and fauna, but eventually they did, and she was able to look around. 

Aside from nature, she could see no sign of their captors. No guard had been left near them and she could hear the sounds of camp that she could not see, far away and around a bend, for she could just make out the soft glow of a fire. 

Unwilling to chance their escape yet, she scanned the trees around them as closely as possible, locking onto the most likely places for a hidden watch, and found them empty. The only sounds of breathing she heard came from right beside her, and she was relieved to note they were only slightly labored. 

She licked dry lips and thanked whoever might be listening that her fellow Slyntari had underestimated her again. "Hold on, Ranger," she murmured, noting that they had not even bothered to bind her or Aragorn's feet. 

Deciding to take advantage of this fact, she braced herself for her body's protestations and pulled herself up so she could reach inside her boot and grab the dagger she kept there. The pain that flared throughout her body, made her breath catch--a good thing since she would have screamed if she could breath, and that would have eliminated any hope they had of getting away. Still, she managed to get to the dagger and grab it despite the pain. She had never before been so glad she could operate on two levels, allowing her to shift the pain to the back of her mind and therefore keep it from interfering in her actions. 

She held still as she waited for the pain to release and her breath to come back to a semblance of normalcy and then began to saw at the ropes holding her wrists. The movement was awkward and painful, the ropes rubbing bracingly against her tender skin, but she ignored it, the pain elsewhere so much more intense. Then, finally, the ropes came free with a snap and she stumbled forward, barely managing to catch herself before she hit the ground with a thud and announced to the entire camp that something was wrong. As it was, she held herself perfectly still and begged anyone who was listening to let Shirk not have heard her. 

When several minutes had passed and there were no footsteps heading their direction, she finally dared to move. She turned to Aragorn. The Dúnadan looked terrible. His eyes were heavily dilated and glazed, half open and staring blankly at his surroundings. His skin was pale, as best she could tell in the dim light, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his face. She moved near him and placed a hand against his forehead, noting the slight fever he had had for the last couple of days had increased enough to be dangerous if left untended. 

The girl shook her head and moved next to him, standing carefully by his right arm and wrapped her left arm carefully around his waist. "Aragorn," she whispered in his ear. "Aragorn, listen to me. We're going to get out of here, but I need your help." 

Dazed eyes fixed on her tiredly and he nodded. She looked up at his bound wrists and started working the bindings with the knife. They snapped and the ranger's weight dropped on her. She hissed in pain, unable to stifle the sound, and stumbled as she attempted to balance his weight which was at least twice her own. 

"Come on, Ranger," she hissed in his ear. "What would Legolas say if he saw you like this, weak human? Stand up and prove him wrong. Show the world." Something of that must have registered in his mind, for he started helping her bear his weight and they steadied. "That's it, Strider. Now we're going this way," she turned him away from the camp and further into the foliage, "and we're going to put an end to that fever and those nasty images in your head, okay?" 

Dazed eyes glanced at her again, and she started walking, leading him into the foliage by the quietest route she could find. She only hoped they could find the right plant before Shirk and company realized they were missing. Once their absence was discovered, they would be hunted, and if they were found, they would never get the chance to escape again. 

The shadows in the ranger's eyes deepened and Kelt stepped up the speed, practically pulling him along with her. She searched for the small clearing she knew was nearby, the hidden one that Shirk had never been able to find despite his best attempts and pulled the unsteady young man after her. She laid him down, then quickly masked their tracks so as not to undo all she had done to keep them hidden. 

She knelt next to him, fear turning her bright eyes dark. She feared the antidote would come too late to save him, but she had to try. Why this one meant so much to her, she did not know, but she knew her mother had been right: When you find someone of true and noble birth, they are worth suffering anything. Kelt shook her head, then leant close to his ear. 

"Dartho, Aragorn. Uume awartha i kala egor vanta i mordo. Uume wanya, il-sii, (Hold on, Aragorn. Do not forsake the light nor walk the shadows. Do not go, not yet.)" she pleaded, hoping the elvish would hold him in a way she could not. Then she jumped to her feet and left the clearing, aware that it would not matter much longer what she did if the drug was not countered, for the shadows would steal him away, and hope would be gone. 

Deep down, she feared it was already too late. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

There were colors: dark reds, grays, greens, and others he could not place besides, swirling, coalescing into odd shapes, images that--had he been capable of feeling anything--would have terrified him. Yes, colors . . . and sounds, many sounds. The rustling of many beings echoed loudly in his ears, the clang of metal on metal, the sickening, stomach turning sound of a blade cutting into flesh. Footsteps coming closer. Dripping, he heard dripping, and was floating. He frowned slightly as words sounded, words in a tongue he was sure he knew but could not place. This was not the first time he had heard it, was it not? 

"Dartho, Aragorn. Uume awartha i kala egor vanta i mordo. Uume wanya, il-sii." 

It seemed to echo inside his mind, bouncing and replaying, overlapping itself until he thought he would scream-- 

A figure appeared beside him, dark, a shadow, his exact form indistinguishable from his surroundings and yet separate, or so Aragorn thought, or thought he did. He saw eyes, yellow eyes--they are eyes?--that glowed, or seemed to. As he looked at them, they grew brighter and expanded. He was floating in a sea of yellow. He could lose himself, he could, and leave the pain behind. A silly smile crossed his lips. Yes, he could leave. . . . 

"Dartho, Aragorn. Uume awartha i kala egor vanta i mordo. Uume wanya, il-sii." 

His eyes were drawn unwillingly away from the eyes, pulled away by those sounds, those words that pulled. He looked up. Symbols or letters danced above his head, careening and bouncing into each other, adding more with each repetition of the phrases. Confusing and jumbling, yet he could not look away. He knew them . . . from somewhere. A long time ago. Was it a long time ago? But where? Why? 

He watched, and as he watched the shapes multiplied and the yellow grew, and sounds and other images clambered for his attention. Flash of swords. Striking metal. Screaming. Terrified. Rushing water. Pounding drums. Dripping water . . . no, blood. A face. Two, three, bloody, dirty. A scream--"NO!" Why? They swirled faster, coming at him quickly and he could not escape!-- 

Pain. Indescribable pain appeared between his temples, like hot pokers had been shoved into his head on either side. White lights flashed behind his eyes, in them, around them. He did not know. He did not care. The pain! 

Something touched his lips, something cool. Burned! Acid! Pain! 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt tumbled through the foliage, doing her best to go for speed and silence, caught painfully by the knowledge that taking too much time would mean Strider's death and that silence at the expense of speed would mean the same, but that getting caught would mean his death just as truly. Frantic eyes scanned the greenery around her, noting and dismissing the various kinds of plants in the blink of an eye yet far too slow for her jangling nerves. She moved on. It was here, she knew, she had seen it only two weeks ago. 

Experience with Shirk's machosistic streaks had taught her to be prepared. As a result, she always learned the antidotes to his poisons, what went into them, and made notes on where they could be found everywhere she went. Too often she got to experience the effects of his "experiments" first hand, and she preferred to suffer the least amount of time possible. 

She entered a small clearing--why were they always small?--and was promptly caught in a spider's web, which she distractedly brushed away, even as she again scanned the plant life, praying she had finally found what she was seeking. A soft cry escaped her lips and she practically threw herself to the ground beside the purplish-blue plant. Again pulling her dagger, she cut off several of the thick stalks, careful not to squeeze them too hard. She was thankful this was one of the few treatments that did not require boiled water to pull off. Not only did she lack the bowl and the water but a fire would be next to impossible without alerting the Slyntari camp--there was just something about fire that seemed to draw Slyntari no matter how skillfully it was kept. 

Running lightly she returned, by the straightest route she could manage, to Aragorn's side, the trip to get there nothing but a blur as instincts took over guiding while fear stole away rational control. Never before had she experienced this, this lack of control. She wondered, vaguely, if this particular human inspired it often; she was pretty sure he did. 

However all such thoughts were driven from her mind when she reentered the clearing and again saw the object of her concern. He lay where she had left him, sprawled on the ground, mostly unmoving. Glazed eyes stared up at the leafy canopy in horrified fascination. Briefly, she wondered what he saw . . . then decided she did not want to know. 

Kelt dropped to her knees and winced, pain jolting up her legs from the impact as a result of the previous impacts. She ignored it and picked up one of the stalks she had gathered before leaning over the prone man. "Aragorn," she called quietly. "Aragorn, look at me. I need you to swallow this." She placed it against his lips, and received the first reaction--true reaction--anyone had garnered from him since that second dosage of Ungwale. 

Aragorn jerked back and twisted his head sideways, kicking out with his legs while he attempted to push away whatever threatened him. The sudden movements knocked Kelt off-balance and she fell painfully onto her elbows, her mind telling her not to land on the plant in her hand and thereby crush it. She further wondered why she had not anticipated this response, already having intimate knowledge of the drug, yet she did not have a chance to dwell on this. In an attempt to keep her balance, she swung out a leg, which connected solidly with a nearby tree, eliciting a yelp of pain and further upset her balance. She fell the rest of the way, landing across the ranger's legs as he had moved and earning a cry from him as well. 

The former Slyntari cursed sharply, aware that they had probably gained the attention of their enemies by now, and moved forward to restrain the agitated human. She had known and yet done nothing. It took little effort--far less than it should have--to pin his arms, despite his greater size and weight--his struggles were unfocused as most of the battle was occurring in his mind--and forced the thick liquid down his throat, squeezing it out into his mouth, then holding it shut until he had swallowed. She repeated the process until all the stems were used and she could no longer force anything from them. 

That done, the only thing left to do was wait. Heaving a sigh, Kelt sat back on her heels and turned her senses out towards the camp, searching for approaching footsteps. Barely a moment later, she heard them. They were still a ways off but came ever closer with each passing moment. It would not be long ere they found what they sought. Then they would both be doomed. While she could run and hope to escape, Aragorn could not. He, also, was in no shape to fight, and of the two, running was his best bet. Time was what he needed, and that was just what he would not get--not if she did nothing. 

There was what it boiled down to: her choice. She could choose to leave, could abandon the ranger. She could run and never look back, good enough that it was likely she could disappear from Shirk's vision, distracted as he would be by the Dúnadain left in his midst. She could run, or she could stay. She could attempt to drag the human with her, but they would be caught long before Aragorn recovered enough to be of any assistance. Or she could reveal her presence, dooming herself but bringing the hope of men more time--time that maybe, just maybe, would be enough to let him escape. 

Really, though, there was no choice. Kelt already knew in her heart which she would choose, no matter the myriad options her brain conjured. Just as, days ago and many leagues away, Strider had sacrificed himself to save her, so now would she do the same for him. 

She stood, careful to make no sound, and jumped into the trees above her, alighting easily on one of the branches with elf-like grace. Casting one last look back at the man who had irrevocably changed her life, she turned and moved away. She could be nowhere near her friend when she showed herself or all of her efforts would be for naught. 

Jumping lightly from branch to branch, she found her familiarity with trees an asset, her light step a necessity, not that either would mean anything if she happened to run into Shirk. He would spot her immediately no matter how well she hid in the trees, for his experience was far greater along with his skill. Which was fine, actually, since she did not want to remain hidden in the trees. All she planned, all she wanted, was to buy time. 

Kelt crouched about twenty feet from the closet Slyntari. She glanced around and caught sight of the glade where she had left Aragorn. If she drew them back, it would be away from him, yet it could not be straight back or they would get suspicious, nor could it be too near to his position, as both would also undo everything she had done. Serious eyes contemplated the scene before her, years as a hunter coming into play: patience. She would wait for the right moment to ensnare her prey. . . . They all faced away from her, heading a different direction. 

She smiled. _Now._

The lithe figure turned, purposely stepping on a branch and fled further into the undergrowth. The hunters on the ground turned at the sound, recognizing it for what it was, but only the quickest caught any sight of what had made it, and then it was only a flash of cloth amid the green plant-life. One of the figures gestured and the company spread out, then quietly, passing as a shadow in the night, headed in the direction of the sound as quickly as was prudent to their minds--which was, actually, a whole lot quicker than was profitable. 

Moments after they vanished into the undergrowth, intent on their hunt, a groan could be heard coming from the bushes behind them. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn blinked rapidly, his eyes refusing to focus on anything in particular for long moments as his eyes watered profusely. Absently, he wiped them away as he pushed himself up with one shaking arm to look around. 

Once his eyes finally focused, he was surprised to find himself in a clearing, a small one, alone and unbound. His last distinct memories--well, sort of distinct--were of being tied by his hands to a tree in a much larger area than this and facing mountains with Kalya beside him, and what he was partially sure was an elf with blonde hair and a cruel smile coming towards him, a knife in his hands. 

The ranger brought his hand--the one not bracing himself against the ground--up to his forehead as a headache starting pounding through his temples. He had thought his concussion was gone. _Oh stop it,_ the more lucid part of his brain told him_, you know why you have a headache. Don't question it, just figure out what's going on._ He shook his head slightly and returned his attention to his surroundings, deciding he would try his hand at standing. He thought he was steady enough, his mind clear enough, to attempt such a thing. 

Slowly and carefully, moving as if he were an old man with frail bones, he pushed himself up into a standing position--a position he did not keep long. The man cursed vulgarly as his ankle twisted under him when he tried to catch himself. Rubbing the offended limb, he thought he could just make out the sounds of footsteps in the distance. Curious, he lay out flat and pressed his ear to the ground, listening to the tale of the earth. It spoke of several feet which passed quietly over it, hunting something that was elf and yet not. Aragorn had a feeling he knew who that was and felt his blood run cold. 

Determined, the Dúnadan crawled over to a tree and used its steady influence to gain his feet. He managed to keep them this time, since when the world began to spin, he was able to simply hold on tighter and wait for the spell to pass. 

Once the world stopped spinning, he looked around again, trying to judge the best way to go, then set out slowly, making his way carefully by a path that took him close to the greatest number of trees. He still felt quite unsteady and did not want to come in closer contact with the ground than was necessary. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

A group of horses raced across the plains near the mountains. Their riders neither paused nor looked from side to side, intent upon one goal. The leader, golden haired with piercing eyes and a noble bearing, looked out across the lands, using one hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He prayed they would arrive in time. If not, then the race of men was doomed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt peered out from behind a tree-trunk, watching her fellows search for her. They worked in pairs, one watching the ground looking for tracks--stupidity in itself since she had used the trees to travel--and the other scanning their surroundings in case she was nearby. Those were the ones she had to be careful of lest she be found too soon. 

She tossed a stone to her right and darted off to her left, using the thick greenery to conceal her passage. Reaching her next hiding place, she again peered out to check the positions of her pursuers. None were near. 

She frowned. This was far too easy. Either the skill of the Slyntari had fallen off more than she knew in the past few years, or they were playing with her as well. She pursed her lips and tilted her head downward without moving her eyes from where they were focused, considering this new piece of information. She had been told once, by her mother, that it was dangerous to underestimate the skills and designs of your enemy, but that it could be just as dangerous to _over_estimate them. Now, the girl wondered which would prove less dangerous, and on which side of the coin she desired to get caught if the one she chose proved wrong. 

Her fingers dug lightly into the dirt beneath her fingertips, curling in frustration as she could not decide which to believe, aware that sometimes her perceptions were off and that things beyond her comprehension occurred. Still, she had a hard time believing the skill of her brethren was not up to the level she had believed. Which left her with a conclusion she liked even less: they knew where she was and were playing with her. Anger burned within her, though she could not place the source. 

Annoyed, both with herself and her fellows, she looked up, then leapt into the branches of the tree that sheltered her from view. The lithe figure quickly ascended the many branches, moving up beyond the sight of her pursuers, for most of them were men, and choosing a suitable branch, sat to think. She was missing something, a link that was singularly important, one that should have occurred to her by now. Indeed, she had the feeling it should have occurred to her long ago. 

Dark eyes followed the progress of one of her former captors, Dwin, as he slowly combed through the underbrush, bright eyes seeking out any clues. He seemed to be marking a trail, yet Kelt could place nothing he could be following since her path did not follow with that which he watched. The young man paused, frowning down at a rock no more than two feet from her launch point, and scratched his head, looking up to cast a glance at his surroundings. He looked, to her eyes, to be about the same age as Aragorn, and yet she was sure the ranger would not have missed her trail--she had done nothing to conceal it, merely choosing a not easily followed path, and yet . . . no one had locked onto it yet. Shirk-- 

Blue eyes widened. Shirk. Indeed had she overlooked an important matter, for she had failed to consider the elf, her former captain. Where was he? That one, even more than herself, had the tendency to show up exactly where you least expected and least wanted him to be. In fact, she would not have been truly surprised to turn and find him behind her; dismayed, but not surprised. 

So thinking, she turned quickly, fearing to see sadistically glowing eyes regarding her with malicious amusement, and saw nothing behind her. Strangely enough, the truth of his absence did nothing to calm her. Panic was slowly edging its way into her thoughts, paranoia working its way past her trained calm, and with that portion of her brain which always seemed to be the last to lose rational thought, she realized what was happening. _He's trying to psyche me out. _

__

__Beautiful eyes narrowed at that, and a deadly calm that had nothing to do with ease about her surroundings settled over her mind, stilling all but the steady rise and fall of her chest with every breath. She refused to be led. Anger had frozen into a fierce resolve and nothing would shift its focus. She and Shirk would fight, the traitor elf would see to that, but not on his terms alone. No, when they fought, he would not go into battle with a psychological victory. 

Kelt looked around once more, her thoughts calm and her mind clear as her mother had taught. The whispers of the trees echoed vaguely in her mind, speaking of moving creatures and times long past. The wind whistled through the leaves, caressing everything it came in contact with before moving on. Footsteps echoed through her awareness, ten pairs--too few. She frowned slightly, noting a spot of quiet and calm. Anyone who did not know better, would have retreated there, thinking it to be an escape. However, she was not just anyone, and she was well aware that Shirk was still missing. She slipped through the trees away from the island of calm, towards the largest area of activity. 

They had moved far enough away from where she had left that ranger that there was no reason to keep the same heading. Moving back the way she had come would confuse them--or at least she hoped it would. It would be well to unsettle them the way they had attempted to unsettle her. Again, she purposely snapped a twig, then changed direction, moving sharply to the left, yet still keeping her distance from the silent area in the forest. It would do no good to place herself in Shirk's hands too soon; the girl again came to a stop and sat to watch the activity below her. 

One of the men, she could not immediately tell which for most were the same height, stood still in the middle of the group, his eyes surveying the surrounding area. She thought he might be one of the Black Numenoreans, and desperately hoped not, for if he saw Aragorn, it was likely he would recognize him for what he was. There were four among the Slyntari, and Kelt found it little wonder they would seek to hunt their kin and take joy from it, just as the orcs took great delight in the hunting and desecration of the elves as they were of similar descent, just twisted in much the same fashion by darkness. He turned and the man's gaze brushed over her position, sending a shiver down her spine though she was sure he did not see her. Yes, he was one of them. Perhaps it was time she did some hunting of her own. 

With that in mind, she moved away, maneuvering closer to her kin. She moved slowly and with great care, well aware of the consequences of failure and of how difficult it would be to subdue one of her fellows unarmed. She possessed more skill than most, but that did not mean they were not equally skilled at deflecting such attempts. Then there was an added care: it had to be soundless. Any mistake, be it failure or the simple fact that her target managed to cry out before she silenced him, would alert the rest, and then she would be lost . . . and then they could concentrate on Aragorn. 

Keen eyes regarded her intended victim, then swept to take in their surroundings. She needed to get him away from the others to take him out. The quandary: how to draw his focus without gaining the attention of the rest of the Slyntari. Pondering this dilemma for a moment, a smile slowly spread across her face. 

He was a man, after all. 

Without another hesitation, Kelt silently removed a lace from the clothes she was wearing and hung it on a nearby plant like it had been caught. She rustled the branch, then ducked back behind cover. 

Her target looked up, his eyes scanning the area carefully even as he slowly walked forward. He was almost upon the plant when he finally noticed the strip of cloth and picked it up to get a better look at it. Curious, he continued on and found another piece. He picked that one up as well and continued to follow the trail as the articles became more interesting. . . . 

Kelt rolled her eyes as the man continued to approach, not the least bit deterred by how easy the clues were to follow, completely taken in by the articles that made up said trail. _It's a good thing I'm not particularly modest,_ she thought, and also a good thing that she did not need to draw the man too far away. The girl waited behind the tree not far from her last hint and waited for her chosen target to appear. He did shortly, and a dagger quickly flashed out, cutting his throat. Surprise marked his features, and a hand drifted up to his throat mere moments before his legs gave way beneath him and he started to fall to the floor. 

The rogue Slyntari caught him before he hit the ground and eased him the rest of the way down, insuring his death remained silent. Once he was down, she turned, ready for her next victim. 

Aragorn crept through the trees, even more unsteady than he cared to admit. _What was in that stuff?_ He shook his head and reached for the tree beside him as the world tilted alarmingly. The man did not remember being quite this dizzy before. In fact, were it not for the fact that he _knew_ he had not drunk any alcohol, he might have sworn he was drunk. 

Leaning against the tree, the Dúnadan waited for the world to assume it's natural order, and again considered his situation. Once he had been able to think clearly, he had decided Kalya had given him the antidote and split. Now, though, he wondered why. Was it because she still wanted to kill him? He frowned. _Yes, Aragorn, _that_ makes sense,_ he berated himself. To protect him? Of course, that did not quite make sense either. How did ditching him while he was unconscious protect him? The answer: it did not. Yet he could not bring himself to believe she had meant ill. But then, perhaps that was because he was not thinking clearly. 

Movement in the distance caught his eye and he focused in that direction, marking figures moving stealthily through the brush. Multiple beings were all heading in the same direction. He squinted at them, tilting his head to the side as he struggled to bring some kind of coherency to what he was seeing. Where would they be going? Who _were_ they? 

Deciding there was only one way to find out, he started moving slowly in their direction. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kelt crept towards the unsuspecting man, fully intent on taking him out. 

She never got close. Before she was fewer than ten steps away, the point of a blade slid under her chin, halting her progress and forcing her head up. Silently, and with great expression, she cursed, her eyes closing for a brief moment, before fixing on the man in front of her, who was now smirking openly. In her eyes it was an obscene expression that should be eliminated as quickly as possible. Lucky for him, she dared not move. 

"Gonna get it now, deary," the man before her sneered. 

Her eyes darkened visibly, almost seeming to shift color. "You're 'gonna get it', scum, ere you live much longer, be it by my hand or another. Mark my words." 

"Tsk, tsk," a silky voice behind her reprimanded, and she felt the pressure on the knife shift slightly as it's owner moved around in front of her. "Such talk from one so young." The musical lilt in his voice made the words seem almost whimsical, but the flash in the being's eyes eliminated any sense of well-being the listener might have been inclined to feel. 

Kelt, certainly, felt no such inclination, but she had long ago learned to parley words in like fashion. "Oh, pardon, I was unaware a certain decor was required when being held at knife point," she declaimed lightly. 

A tight smile crept onto Shirk's face. "Perhaps I should instruct you, then." 

"Oh, sure," Kelt agreed sarcastically. "You did so well the first time." 

The knife bit a little deeper into her skin, drawing blood, and Kelt thought that perhaps it would be a good idea not to antagonize the elf so long as he held a blade against her neck. That would be what common sense would dictate. 

"Your mother should have taught you to respect higher beings, Kelt," Shirk offered, his voice just a shade too dark to be considered conversational. 

Never one to let common sense rule her, Kelt replied, "I'm still waiting to be addressed by a higher being." 

The bite of the knife was sharp as it dug into her skin at the juncture between her head and neck, though it was the being's eyes that held her interest. Fire had seemed to blaze in them before freezing and becoming expressionless, the blue as pale as ice. His voice was dead when he spoke. "I am going to enjoy teaching you your lesson . . . slowly." 

A chill worked its way down her spine, and she fought the impulse to fidget and straightened her posture, leveling a steady gaze at the elf before her. She could not go down without a fight. "But you have not earned it," she objected, her tone regal. 

Shirk raised an eyebrow, emphasizing the knife at her throat whose pressure had yet to be released. 

She smiled coldly. "Surely it would be more . . . fun, if we enjoyed a slight contest first," she said, just enough of a lilt in her voice that it could be taken as a question. 

Silence followed. Kelt met Shirk's piercing gaze unflinching, knowing that showing any sign of weakness would doom her before she ever had the chance to fail in mortal combat. His expression did not change, but he suddenly dropped the knife. "Bring her blades," he commanded. 

Two men stepped up on either side of her and grabbed her arms, leading her to a different location, Shirk walking before her. She knew she could escape their grasp, but she would never escape the elf: her skills were not up to the challenge. Besides, she had issued a challenge; informally, perhaps, but a challenge just the same. She would see it through. 

They emerged into a fair sized clearing consisting mainly of a ground of hard stone. A high rock edged one side and she realized they were a lot closer to the tunnel entrances than she had originally believed. Nirt walked over, carrying her twin blades, and the girl pulled them, her expression set. 

Time, she needed to buy time. Blue eyes fixed on the fair being across the way from her. 

He smiled, the expression terrible in its lack of friendliness, exactly the opposite of what you would expect from one of his kind. "You have no hope," he intoned. "But death will not be your reward. Nor that of your friend." 


	13. All Thought Lost

Hey, hey! This story's almost finished. Aren't you so excited? This chapter, then two more, and False Reality is completed. A special moment. Two more weeks, and then it is done. Fair warning: these next three chapters are shorter than the ones I have spoiled you with. Lol. Also, we finally get to the action. *rubs hands together evilly* Anyway. . . . 

**Grumpy:** If I answered that, it would be telling. And you're just about to read the answer anyway. *g* 

**Nell-Marie:** Truly? Wow, I'm speachless. The problem with that, or course, could be that I'm about to get rid of her. Hehe. Sorry. 

**Bill the Pony2:** Yay! Here's the next chapter. Oh, no. I've heard cliffies are the number one cause of death among fanfiction readers. It's horrible. Something like an 85% death rate. *shakes head sorrowfully* Perhaps someone should do something about it. *g* 

Please note that I have never taken martial arts of any kind, am bad at physics, and have watched too many action/adventure-James Bond movies and the like. As a result, I cannot vouch for the quality of my action scenes. Fair warning, just so you know. 

Oh, and, I think this one is a cliffie, too. Just so you know. I've heard shock and suspense are easier to deal with if you know what's coming. Then again, I could be wrong. *g* 

Thanks, you guys (and no, I don't mean to say you are all guys), I really really love hearing form you all. You make me so happy. So, Kudos, and enjoy! . . . Then, as a small token of your esteem, drop a review. Tell a story. I'm pathetic, I know, but I love reading stuff, even if it has nothing to do with the story. *****g* 

Now, I'm really done this time. Enjoy.****

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**All Thought Lost**

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****"I didn't realize foresight was your gift, O Ancient One," Kelt taunted Shirk. 

Shirk moved forward, his expression dark; his steps a hunting cat's prowl, smooth and languid, hiding incredible power. Narrowed eyes took in everything around him. "One does not need to be to foresee the end of this battle, sapling," he replied. "You should give up now." 

"And deny you the pleasure of your sport, lord? Never." Her eyes glinted. "In any case, even the wisest cannot see all ends, and you are far from being counted among that number." Blue eyes moved as she tracked the elf's movements, every muscle tensed for action. 

A brief flash of anger contorted his features, gone so quickly none could truly mark its presence. A cold smile again pulled at his lips in response to some devious idea he had formed; it sent a chill of fear straight down Kelt's spine--she knew that smile. "I'm actually glad the Ranger yet lives, dear cousin, for now I will get the joy of both of your company. The more the merrier, and I have some new toys to try out--I know how much you just love to watch." 

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched, anger shooting straight through her as the taunt found its mark. The extent of her ire, though, did not reach her eyes; it never did. She growled, "You talk too much." Then leapt forward quickly, making a low slash with her right arm, blade held tightly in her grip, the other held back defensively. 

Shirk countered the blow easily, catching her blade with on of his own; the blades locked. Neither moved for a frozen moment, barely a foot between them, each staring into the other's eyes, searching for a sign of weakness, gauging their resolve. Then Shirk slashed high with his other blade, a strike that was also easily parried. He followed it with yet another slash, causing Kelt to dance backwards out of its path before darting back in to stab quickly at her opponent. He sidestepped, extending his knife to sweep her blow aside. Kelt dropped out of her attack, sweeping her leg out in an attempt to take out the elf's legs, but he flipped backwards, landing a good five feet away. 

Five feet is nothing for an elf, and Shirk re-closed the distance between them faster than Kelt was prepared for, a series of quick, short strikes pushing her back under their fury as she attempted to escape them. There was no time; Shirk gave no quarter, and she knew that sooner rather than later she would miss a strike she could not afford to miss. She bit her lip slightly in anxious concentration, a habit Shirk hated, and watched him carefully even as she near frantically parried his quick swipes. 

She kept moving back, first one foot, then the other as Shirk drove her before him. If something was not done quickly, she knew, there would be nowhere left to go; Shirk had maneuvered her back to the rock wall she had noted without her realizing--she could have kicked herself if Shirk was not very nearly doing an excellent job of it himself. 

Then she saw it: an opening. The girl ducked forward, coming up inside his guard and grabbed one of his hands, twisting it as she pulled it down and back. Instead of resisting, he used the movement to change his momentum and continued the spin to come at her from the other side. She could not dodge it and was forced to block it, which allowed Shirk to free his hand; that was the bad thing. The good thing: her back was no longer to the rock wall. 

Shirk sliced again and she dodged, jumping back slightly to avoid the blade, even as she swung her own to chase it. A slight gasp, indiscernible to any but herself, marked first blood. She ducked and spun, neatly avoiding the blow Shirk had aimed at her in retaliation. As she spun, coming up on the elf's other side, she shifted her hold on her knives to drive them into his side. The other checked the blow before she was completely set and Kelt felt herself falling backwards, the familiar feeling of losing control--familiar from fighting Shirk when she was younger--shot through her, threatening to tense her muscles and she forced herself to relax even as she twisted slightly to come down flat on her back. She rolled, and was almost immediately back on her feet, easily bringing her blades up to block Shirk's renewed fury. 

The fight went on for many minutes, each stretching into the next, with neither gaining a sure advantage. The surrounding Slyntari watched, enraptured, as the two danced--and that was exactly how it looked from the outside: a dance, the two warriors moving smoothly from form to form, silver blades flashing as they caught the sun's light, each trying to dominate the other. They watched as the battle escalated, blades and feet moving faster, impossibly, the maneuvers becoming more intricate, as two of the groups' best locked in conflict, now unstoppable, which could only end with clear domination--which implied submission on the part of the loser, which none could see from either--or death. 

Kelt moved forward and slashed, her breath coming fast, and this blow fell short of its mark just as sure as the previous had, blocked by her opponent. She was gratified when his, too, was blocked. Their eyes met, hatred and determination opposed in their gazes, and then the moment was gone, their blades again swinging, hoping to strike flesh. No more blood had been drawn after Kelt's initial strike so long ago; she had a feeling that was about to change. 

She was tiring. Against nearly anyone else, that would have meant little, so small was the impact it had on her movements, but against an elf, who showed no sign of fatigue, it could mean everything. Both fighters knew it would only be a matter of time before fatigue drove Kelt to make a mistake--and she was already injured. The adrenaline that had kept the pain at bay was failing as her movements and fatigue combined to aggravate the injuries and shoot pain throughout her body. 

The welts on her back from the whipping she had received earlier were now firmly protesting the stress placed on it--both from the blows she was continually forced to block and the roll she had subjected it to earlier. The pain would no longer stay in the back of her mind, and it was hindering her efforts now. 

A slash from the right caught her unprepared and Shirk's blade cut deeply into her arm and nearly forced her to drop her knife as she lost a good deal of feeling in her arm. Aware the battle was over now, regardless of whether Shirk decided to play with her more or not unless she did some notable damage, the girl braced herself for more screaming from her injuries, quickly reversed her knives, and threw herself to the floor, stabbing the sharp blade of her knife deep into his leg, and dragged it down with her as she fell. As soon as she hit the floor, ignoring the sparks that flashed before her eyes and the pain that shot up her form yet seemed also somehow numbed, she rolled. She felt the blade from Shirk's strike bite into her flesh, grazing her side, but took the opportunity, while she was on her back, to kick, catching her opponent across the face and throwing him backwards and off-balance. As he stumbled backwards, she scrambled to her feet, the movements far from fluid in her pain. 

By the time she straightened once more, Shirk had regained his feet. They stood, regarding one another, for several minutes. Blood covered most of the lower half of Kelt's sleeve, the light shirt she wore dripping slightly with the red fluid. More stained her side from the slight miss, and her back was in tatters, blood showing on the strips of cloth. Across from her, Shirk looked nearly whole--or would, save the long gash down his leg starting at about mid-thigh and continuing down his leg to stop just above his ankle, the wound drenching most of his pant leg in blood. 

Slowly, a smile pulled at Shirk's lips, far from reaching his eyes which were still as cold as ice, and he started clapping, slowly, mocking. "Well done, young one, well done, though I expected better from you." His gaze flickered over her bruised and bloody form. "You look terrible." 

Kelt blinked. The inane comments took a moment to register. Eventually, they did and she cocked her head to the side, breathing hard and still trying to get it under control. Had she not needed this break herself, she would have attacked, well aware that Shirk's elven healing abilities would render that nasty cut she had just given him more a nuisance than debilitating. Of course, she, too, healed faster due to elven blood, and she was more than willing to take whatever time he was willing to give. Time was what she was attempting to buy with this, after all, even if she was not quite sure why. 

She blinked again. "How distressing," she finally replied, tone suggesting she was not. 

"Your mother would be terrible disappointed," he continued, false concern lacing his voice. 

"I doubt that," Kelt denied. "I think she would be thrilled." 

Shirk frowned, then sneered. "Oh, yes. You've realized the value of your heritage. The light that was so long hidden is free." 

Kelt started, her mind flashing back to the name her mother had given her, caught off-guard by the other's words. Hidden light . . . free. . . . 

_*"There is more to you than you think, Kalya," her mother had said, years ago. "One day you'll discover this for yourself, and you will be set free. Hope will reign and Shadow shall never hold you again."*_

She drew her breath in, startled. Her mother had been right. A slow smile, genuine, spread across her face. "Yes, Shirk, you are exactly right," she declared. 

"Am I?" he asked dangerously, stepping forward, then nearly immediately shifting his weight off his injured leg. "It matters not what you think. You were born a servant of Mordor. You were raised a servant of Mordor. You shall always remain a servant of Mordor. You can never be anything else. No one will ever see you as anything more than an enemy." 

Kelt's mind flashed to Aragorn. He had. That one had seen her as more; he had seen her as a friend. Friends made sacrifices for each other. She raised her head. "I may have been born and raised a slave of Sauron, Shirk," she acknowledged. "Both beyond my control. But I will die as I choose. And I choose to be free." 

The dark elf's eyes darkened, becoming nearly black. He growled, "You can never be free." 

Then he attacked. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The forested pass was calm, quiet. Too quiet. The only sounds that made their way to the ranger's ears were made by his own footsteps and the whispers of the wind as it sighed through the trees. Aragorn looked around, but his sharp gaze caught no movement and nothing out of place. The beings he had glimpsed earlier had disappeared, a good while ago, in fact, for it had been many minutes since he had last seen any movement beneath the trees other than his own. 

Aragorn paused. Yes, it was calm, but it was the calm before the storm, and it was quiet, but it was a waiting silence, like nature was holding its breath. It set the Dúnadan on edge and his hand instinctively moved for his sword, but it was not there. The Slyntari had taken it and now he had no idea where it was. His hand itched for a weapon, anything so long as he could fight with it if threatened, for he was sure danger lurked nearby, even though he could not see it. 

His hands clenched at his sides but he continued on his way, ever watchful for the threat he could not find. He was glad his balance was finally back and the fuzziness in his mind cleared. Little bugged a ranger more than to be incapable of taking care of himself, and Aragorn had had enough of that to last him a lifetime in those light-forsaken tunnels. 

Six more steps and he was halting once more, the warning of danger now at a fever pitch in the back of his mind, an instinct honed through years of fighting the Enemy's minions alongside elves with the Numenorean blood. He glanced around warily. 

Suddenly, he stumbled forward as something heavy landed on his back. An arm wrapped around his neck and he grabbed it, trying to hold it from tightening, but whoever held him was strong, stronger than himself, and possessed better leverage. He stumbled as lack of oxygen pressed on his mind, then set his feet and drove him and his assailant backwards as hard as he could. 

A muffled "oomph" sounded behind him and the other's grip loosened. Aragorn took advantage of the release and, holding the other's wrist, leant forward quickly, throwing the assailant over his head. He followed the other forward, twisting his wrist up behind his back even as he fell on the man. His knees drove into the other's back and pushed the man's air out in a whoosh, pining his adversary beneath him. 

"Who are you?" he hissed in his attacker's ear. Unsurprisingly, the man did not answer and he wrenched the wrist in his grasp further up. "Who are you? Where is my friend?" he demanded. 

To his surprise, the other laughed quietly, a strained coughing sound that was no less identifiable for its lack of air. "The girl is probably already dead," he wheezed. "Fighting Shirk. There is no hope for her. Or you." He struggled a moment for the breath Aragorn was denying him. "You'll both be dead before nightfall. You're just lucky you caught me by surprise, Dúnadan." 

Aragorn hissed slightly, caught by indecision on what to do with his captive and the need to aid his friend before it was too late. He caught sight of a dagger strapped to the other's thigh and pulled it. That distraction proved enough for the one beneath him, for the man twisted, ignoring the arm he was practically breaking in the process, and knocked Aragorn off him and onto his back. The man was on him at once, grabbing the dagger and trying to wrench it away from the ranger. Rolling, they struggled with it until they came to a halt, his enemy on top with the dagger in his hand and pressed to Aragorn's throat. The ranger's left one was trapped, his right apparently forgotten by his assailant. 

Strider looked up into gray eyes darker than his own and lit with a fiendish glee that he could only ever remember seeing in the eyes of orcs when the foul creatures were presented with the opportunity of torturing their fair cousins, the elves. The knife pressed closer against his throat, digging into his skin and the ranger sought desperately with his right hand for something to use as a weapon before his life flashed before his eyes. It closed, finally, on a fist sized stone. He glanced down, risking briefly turning his attention away from the other. 

A surprised gasp riveted it right back, and Aragorn saw recognition in that terrible gaze, recognition of his lineage. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather passed through him with that realization--that he was known to the enemy--and that this is what he would have become if he let the darkness claim his soul. 

A timeless moment spread between them, frozen, both an instant and an eternity as opposite sides of the same coin stared each other in the face. Then Aragorn once again felt the rock in his hand, and before the other could recover, before he could even think about it, he brought the rock up and slammed it against the other's head, just below the ear. The other fell backward, dropping the knife, senseless, and without hesitating, picked up the dagger and drove it through the Black Numenorean's heart. 

Aragorn watched as the other collapsed, limp, to the ground, his expression forever to be dazed surprise, and unsteadily climbed to his feet, his hand unconsciously going to his throat. 

Then, for the first time, he heard the sounds of battle, metal clashing against metal, in the distance, brought to him on the wind which had just shifted yet again. 

Without thought nor care for stealth, Aragorn turned and pelted through the trees towards the sounds, adrenaline pumping through his veins and the dead man's words echoing through his mind, mingling with his own fears. Leaves flashed before his eyes as he wove a path through the undergrowth, drawing ever closer to the sounds of battle he was certain would cease ere he could reach the girl's side. He had known her so short a time, but after the darkness, the last thing he could stand was to lose a friend, whether she returned his friendship or not. 

Finally, the sounds rang clear, and he could see the break in the trees up ahead and two figures moving quickly back and forth along with the flash of their blades. Some distant part of his brain that was still thinking noted the presence of other people standing nearby, watching the fight with eager expressions as he ran up to stand within their midst--it was a measure of their own absorption that they never noticed the ranger's arrival. 

He paused on the edge of the clearing, just under the eaves of the trees, horror stealing his ability to move or speak. Even as he watched, he saw Kalya stumble backwards, knocked off-balance by a strong and well-placed blow. Shirk pulled back to deliver another and Aragorn saw in a flash that she would never be able to bring her weapons up in time to block it nor move quick enough to dodge it. Then, as time seemed to slow down, the scene before him seemed to morph, sliding to another time, another place, one not wholly different from this, and instead of Kalya about to be stabbed by the maliciously shining blade in Shirk's hand, it was Legolas. 

The blade descended, easily followed by his eyes and dug deeply into living flesh. Distantly, he heard a soft gasp of pain, and the figure's eyes widened in shock, the image of Legolas still superimposed over the ranger's vision. He watched as the fair being sank to the ground. In his mind, he was watching his best friend die. Unable to move, he did the only thing he could. 

He screamed. 


	14. Chaos

Almost to the end. Then on to the next, how fun. *g* Gee, everyone's so busy. . . . If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like me anymore. Hehe. Luckily, I think I know better. You'll like me better when I bring Legolas into the picture, I think. Anyway. . . . 

**Nell-Marie:** LOL. I'm glad you love it. Technically, you're my 40th reviewer. I don't know if it counts or not if I never got two of them, but yeah! If I could give you something, I would. *g* Oh, um, well . . . Just read, you'll find out more about what happens to the girl. *g* hehe. 

Let's see, we find out where Elladan and Elrohir are and stuff happens. Me and my brother had an interesting little laugh over this chapter at 2 a.m., when he was proof-reading this for me......something haveing to do with trees and bushes.....lol. *g* 

Enjoy.****

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**Chaos**

_"NO!"_

The cry ripped through the still air, startling every being in the clearing, and snapping Kalya's head--along with everyone else's--up to look in the direction of the cry. The girl felt her heart sink at the sight of the ranger, standing, heedless of his danger. Yet she could do nothing. The trials of the past couple of days along with her injuries and insurmountable fatigue, were finally conspiring to steal consciousness away from her. The pain--incredibly bright--was sinking away as her senses numbed. 

As she sank into the comforting black of oblivion, she thought, _Strider, you fool. Why couldn't you have just run?_

Then her eyes closed and she knew no more. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elladan's head snapped up like a deer who has just sensed danger was near, his grey-blue eyes riveted to the southeast, the direction from which the cry had come. The pain-filled denial had startled the elf, for he had not expected it; he had caught no sign of another's presence, though there was another reason that made his blood turn to ice: it had sounded like Estel. 

Without another thought, the two-thousand-sodmething-year-old elf began running, his heart demanding he answer the call of his human brother. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elrohir ran, jumping nimbly over rocks in his haste, sometimes more sliding than running as rocks crumbled beneath his feet and slid down the mountain with him, heralding his approach with their skittering. He did not care; the only thing that mattered was reaching Estel and taking care of whatever had caused his brother to cry so, his blood pounding furiously through his veins. 

He feared something terrible had befallen the young human, and his mind ably raced with dreadful possibilities. The memory of losing his mother to orcish villainy still terrible and fresh in his mind, and he knew he could not stand to lose the young Dúnadan to the same fate. 

A drop appeared before him, having finally arrived at the invisible pass--even to elvish eyes--from a direction with no entrance; not pausing, he jumped. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The heart-wrenching cry burst the tense silence that had descended upon the riders, causing the horses to pause mid-stride and the herds of the entire company to come up. Keen elven eyes sought to pierce the stone that lay between them and the owner of that voice, dread coalescing like a hard rock in the pit of their stomachs. 

"That sounded like Estel," Taima observed, his voice unable to conceal the fear the elf felt for his friend as he vocalized what they all thought. 

The company glanced at each other, then, as one, pushed their mounts faster. Deep in his heart, Glorfindel feared they would arrive too late to help the young human, but he also feared what may have happened to Elrond's sons, for he could think of little that would force such a broken cry from the strong youth's lips. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

A breathless stillness engulfed the clearing as the echoes of the cry died away. The Slyntari were too surprised by the unexpected outburst to react to the intruder in their midst. The fact that it was the ranger they had been unable to find was a double shock (for they had thought he was long gone by now) and took a minute to sink in. 

When it finally did, they charged the distraught human, the younger of the group issuing war cries as they ran, swords brandished before them. The others followed more slowly, content to allow the "children" the chance to exercise their skill. 

Oblivious to the beings rushing at him, Aragorn took a step toward the fallen figure, only to duck as something shiny descended towards his head, belatedly realizing it was a sword. He heard the thud as the weapon struck a tree and for the first time focused on his surroundings, taking in the rather large group of armed people coming at him; his eyes widened. The snapping of a twig behind him was the only warning he had before another sword was swung at his head. He ducked, then darted off to his right, only to skid to a halt as he rounded the tree to find another man bearing a sword before him. Again, the ranger was forced to duck. 

He reached for his sword as he stood back up, only to find it missing. He froze, eyes wide. Facing so many, unarmed, was not a promising endeavor. He needed a weapon other than the dagger he had appropriated earlier. 

Another sword swung towards him, forcing the ranger to move or be skewered. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his foot caught on a tree-root. Then a sword slammed into the tree where he would have been standing. For once, Aragorn was grateful to be clumsier than an elf (it made up for being slower). 

The ranger rolled and, taking advantage of the close proximity of his prey, kicked the man, who dropped his sword as he stumbled backwards. Aragorn continued the roll and grabbed the sword, then scrambled backwards, narrowly managing to keep all his fingers when another blade crashed into the ground before his face. 

Quickly, the Dúnadan gained his feet, relishing the feel of the sword in his hand as he parried the next blow that came his way. A person to his left struck at him, and he intercepted it, forcing it away from him as he hastily stepped backwards, desperate for a chance to regain his breath and his bearings. 

A seconds pause, then they were on him again, darting forward and forcing his retreat so as not to be overwhelmed. They came at him fast and in great numbers, but were uncoordinated in their attack, which allowed him a chance. 

Desperately, he fought on, his blade a blur as he struggled to meet each new offensive. Never before had he been more grateful for the "chaos training"--one on any-number-greater-than-ten battles--Elladan and Elrohir had forced on him as a youth after he had grasped the basics of sword-fighting. What he had once considered useless had now come in handy twice--in less than two weeks. It was not something he wanted to do again anytime soon. _Assuming I survive this_, he thought._ Ai, they're worse than Orcs!_

He ducked again, then ran backwards a short distance before reversing direction to again face his adversaries. Using a small tree to redirect his momentum as he swung around it, he met the first in line with surprising force, driving the other's sword back at him. The being yelped and fell, slipping in his unthinking haste. Aragorn drove the tip of his sword through the other's chest, then he spun on his knee and brought his sword up to meet the next strike. The blade slid as their masters struggled in a contest of strength with neither gaining ground. 

Aragorn broke off the attack, throwing himself backwards over his fallen enemy before rolling to his feet. Once again level with his enemies, the ranger rejoined the fight. 

Metal clanged. The forest rang with the sounds of battle. Long minutes passed, and one would be hard-pressed to claim one man fought against many by the sounds that could be heard from the clearing in which Shirk stood. If one did not know better it would be easy to claim it was two small forces going head-to-head. 

_Yes,_ Shirk mused._ Kelt was right. That one is quite skilled._ A malicious smile crossed his face, though it was marked by none. He glanced behind him nonchalantly, taking in the still figure that lay barely two feet away in a growing puddle of blood. He dismissed her as a possible threat (she would not be going anywhere anytime soon), then returned his attention to the fight still ongoing under the trees, keen elven eyes easily spotting the combatants. He would enjoy playing with the ranger, he decided, and he had better toys than the Ungwale. 

A second being finally fell to Aragorn's sword, and he actually managed to count his assailants: twelve, with at least eight more standing back, watching. The young ranger wondered why, then quickly decided he did not care so long as they stayed away. He had more than he could deal with already. 

Slash. Parry. Duck. Swing. Turn. Parry. Strike. Aragorn had long since given up trying to form a strategy for this fight. His mind would not cooperate. See and React; Elladan had warned him against falling to such tactics before, stating traps were difficult to avoid when one gave no thought to the future, but it could not be helped. Something would have to give--either his opponents or his body; the Dúnadan could not keep up this punishing pace much longer. He had a feeling it would be his body that quit first. 

Still, he kept fighting, positive he did not want to end up in Shirk's hands nor at his mercy. He had a feeling the Slyntari leader would not let his men kill him if there was any way to stop it. Fear kept him fighting, even after strength and hope failed. 

Yet even as he continued to parry stroke after stroke, he knew he was quickly running out of time. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Twelve yards. Thirty-six feet. 

That is how far Elrohir fell before he again reached solid ground. Unprepared, even elven reflexes could not save him, and the shock of impact jolted through his lithe frame even as he allowed his body to continue down into a roll to help absorb the impact. Of course, such techniques to minimize damage work best when there are no hard objects to bar one's path. 

Elrohir had this information forcefully driven into his head when his roll firmly introduced him to one such hard object. 

Brilliant lights flashed before his eyes, obscuring his vision. Then the elf finally came to a stop, a rather undignified heap on the valley floor. Dazed, the fair being cautiously pushed himself up, pausing as the world decided to go on a trip without him. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the nauseating view and easily decided that jumping from an unknown height without looking was not one of the wiser things he had ever done. He made a mental note to exclude this little episode when his brother asked what happened later. He did not want his father learning of this, either. 

The thought of what Elrond would do if--when--he discovered this, nearly made Elrohir groan out loud independent of his aching head. He did not want to think about it, he decided. 

Finally, the pounding in his head diminished, becoming a dull throb at the base of his skull. Deciding he had nothing to lose by tempting fate, he stood. He watched as the world spun once before settling down like it was supposed to. Then, satisfied it was not going to jump or anything else as soon as he started moving, Elrohir ran. He moved quickly, dodging trees and leaping over bushes, his movements graceful as always and fleet as a deer. 

His intimate meeting with the rock had knocked a bit of sense back into him, so he no longer ran blindly and instead scanned his surroundings, looking for anything out of place. 

Then, something that should never happen, happened. Despite scanning his surroundings with his kind's keen eyes and listening with his kin's sharp ears, Elrohir did yet another thing he never wanted to tell his brother--neither of them--nor his father: he stumbled, unknowing, into the middle of an orc camp. 

Elrohir burst past a shield of leaves into a fair sized clearing, intent on getting to Estel, and froze. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the orcs before him. His shoulders slumped just notably as his wandering gaze took in the foul creatures to either side of him and behind him. It simply had to be his luck that he found--when he really did not want to--the orcs he and his brothers had been searching for--and really tried to find--earlier. _Valar,_ he cried silently. _It's not fair!_

The stillness lasted for another moment as both sides got a good look at each other, gleeful smiles adorning orc faces, then pandemonium broke out and all parties started moving. 

The orcs rushed forward and Elrohir drew his sword. He twirled the long blade at his side, then swung it up for a high block of an orc scimitar. He pushed the crude blade down as he turned, ending with his side to his enemy. With his left hand he quickly drew his dagger, holding it reversed in his hand, and swung his arm back. The short blade buried to the hilt in the creature's neck. He stepped back, pulling his blade with him, and the orc body fell. Six more orcs were revealed by their fellow's fall, and Elrohir quickly looked around him for an escape. None was to be found. 

He set his feet and pushed from his mind the knowledge that more than thirty orcs were preparing to rush him, and tried to convince himself this was just like Elladan's insane "chaos training" and not a big problem. Trying, however, proved a problem: he failed miserably. It had been a long time since he had fought alone against so many. _Father will most definitely not be pleased._

An orc bellow echoed close by, sending a small shudder of mingled fear and hatred down his back though it did not bother him. However, the answering cries--many of them, his mind traitorously supplied--did. The color drained from his face. _Oh, this is not good_. 

Then the distance between him and the orcs disappeared, as did the time for thought, and the clash of metal against metal joined the pounding of feet and loud battle cries in the still air.__

__

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Glorfindel looked up, a familiar dark feeling descending on his mind, a shadow that pressed in on his thoughts. Orcs. The elf lord's eyes narrowed and measured the distance to the pass that could just barely be seen by eyes that knew what to look for. 

Two leagues. So close, yet too far. The twins and the young human would have to make due for a while longer. 

_Hold on, young ones. Just hold on._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elrohir swung his sword with brutal force, ruthlessly forcing the vile creatures away from him. Any who dared stray too close fell to the sting of his blade. Sharp eyes flickered over the converging enemy, jittery as they were, and took their count. 

Too many. 

Slowly but surely, the elf pushed his way towards the trees. If he could just gain the forest again, he could lose the orcs in the trees and continue on to his missing brother. 

He ducked a wide swing and met another, then swung his blade from across his body and around his head, scattering the orcs before him and catching a deadly blade that had arched towards his back. Suddenly, he darted forward, using his enemies' distraction, and quickly gained the trees. He swung himself up and scrambled into one of the higher branches out of the way of ambitious orcs. 

Once safely above them, he looked down. Their angry jeers easily reached his ears, grating in their harshness. A few began attempts to follow him and the others clustered around eagerly. Elrohir had seen enough. He darted off over the branches, springing from limb to limb as nimbly as if he was on the ground. 

Even as the distance grew, he could hear them coming behind him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elladan moved through the forest cautiously. Having finally reached the pass, common sense had again set in and the elf's movements had slowed, eyes darting around to spy any enemies that could be hidden in the growth around him. That is not, however, to say he moved slowly. 

The dark haired elf paused, unsure where his human brother was. There were no tracks in this area to lead him one way or another and he dared not be wrong. A slender hand rested against a nearby tree trunk as he slid into thought. He wished he could talk to the trees the way his woodland friend could. In a forest, he knew, Legolas would have little trouble finding the human. Not so for him. 

Disgusted with his inability, Elladan gave into a childish impulse and kicked at the ground. A slight sound almost straight ahead of him got him moving again. He was sure Estel did not have much time left. He charged through the trees as quickly as stealth would allow. 

Gradually, sounds came to his ears to replace the tense silence that had surrounded him shortly after entering the forested pass. It took him a moment, but eventually he could discern the clashing of swords and the quick movements of feet over the ground. As the distance closed, he could also make out the humans' heavy breathing. A grunt of pain and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground nearly froze his heart, except that in the next instant he realized the voice had not been Estel's. 

The elf crept forward more slowly as the humans finally moved into view between the foliage. Cold fury lit in his veins when he saw seven men attacking his brother. Sharp eyes caught two or three other bodies strewn across the ground, obviously dead. Fierce pride for the young one's accomplishments chased the fury. Outnumbered, Estel had still managed to beat them back and take them down, and had apparently been doing so for a while. That realization sent worry following on the heels of his pride and he observed the ranger closely. 

Sweat beaded Estel's face and plastered his shirt to his back. His sword--no, someone else's sword, Elladan noted with a frown--still swung quickly through the air, moving in time to meet each attack. However, Elladan was well used to watching the human fight and knew his skills well. Estel's counter strikes were not coming as quickly as normal, nor were his footsteps so fleet or nimble. Fatigue was pulling at the human. Sooner or later he would make a mistake, and Estel could not afford mistakes. 

Elladan prepared to go to his aid, just about to rush forward and make his presence known--and felt--when what he had predicted happened. 

He watched, horrified, as his brother's sword was knocked from his hand and the ranger stumbled backward from the power of the blow. The elf saw the blow that would end his brother's life even before the weapon was pulled back. 

Quickly, with a speed only elves could manage, Elladan strung his bow and held it firmly before him. He watched. As his brother's attacker pulled back his arm in preparation for the stroke that would end the young ranger's life, the elf pulled an arrow and notched it, pulled back and took aim. Then, before the blow could fall, Elladan released the arrow. 

It flew true, catching the man in the neck and halting his movements. Shock widened his eyes and his hand made an aborted motion towards his throat even as his sword dropped from suddenly numb fingers. His companions did not notice, and Elladan did not pause. As soon as he had released the arrow, the dark haired elf drew a second and released it. Two more fell in rapid succession before the rest realized what happened. They turned to face the new threat and a fourth fell to precise elven shooting. 

The distraction was enough for Estel, who quickly reclaimed his sword and ran it through one of the human's chests. The remaining two withdrew as the elf came running up to his youngest brother. 

"Estel!" he cried. "Are you alright?" 

"Elladan!" the human exclaimed, relief overwhelming the fatigue momentarily. "You're here! And yes, yes. For once I'm fine. Not even a scratch." 

The elf looked more closely at the tired human and noticed quite a few scratches, mostly on his arms. They were all shallow, too much so to draw blood though they were certainly red. They were the kind of scratches one got for moving quickly among trees heedless of their branches. Elladan decided to let it go; they were superficial. He could hardly believe the young one had truly fought so many and actually remained unscathed. _Father will die of shock,_ Elladan decided. 

"I'm impressed," he replied, whistling slightly. 

"There are more," Estel continued before he could say any more. "These weren't even the best of the crew. There are at least eight more, plus the two that retreated. Their leader is an elf and they all work for Sauron." 

Elladan looked at the human in shock. "What?" he hissed. "Impossible!" 

"No, it--" Aragorn cut off with a frown as Elrohir suddenly dropped down between them. The human was used to elves appearing out of nowhere, but that did not mean he liked it, even if Elladan's appearance had saved his life. 

"Estel! Elladan! We'd better leave," he announced. "Orcs are coming." 

"Orcs?" Aragorn question, his frown deepening. " Kalya said there were no orcs." 

"Who's Kalya?" Elladan asked. 

Elrohir said, "Well I found them, and last I heard they were coming right behind me." 

"A girl," Aragorn replied. 

"Where did you come from?" Elladan demanded. 

Elrohir pointed off to the northwest. His brothers looked in time to see the horde rushing toward them, at least a hundred strong. The twins turned to move in the opposite direction and came face-to-face with the remaining Slyntari. They froze. The ten they had known about had been joined by another five, apparently drawn by the commotion. Shirk was still nowhere to be seen. 

Not sure which enemy to face but sure they could not turn their backs to either one, the three brothers stood with their backs together. 

"I don't suppose they'll play nice?" Elrohir asked hopefully. 

Elladan glanced back at him. "Precisely what is an Orc's definition of nice?" he demanded. 

"About the same as a Slyntari's," Aragorn replied. 

"There are Slyntari here?" Elrohir hissed. 

Aragorn glared at him. "Who did you think our other friends were?" 

Elladan sighed. "What am I going to do with you two?" he asked, exasperated. "I leave you alone for a minute and you find trouble. No one else around for miles, and you find trouble." 

"This is not 'no one', Elladan," Elrohir objected. "I think maybe we'd better have Father check your eyes." 

Whatever reply Elladan had been going to make was cut off as the orcs finally charged, requiring the elder twin's attention. Elrohir joined in his defense against the onslaught, and Aragorn was surprised when the Slyntari did not charge the beleaguered brothers immediately. With is back to the orc horde (not a comfortable place to be no matter _who's_ guarding you back), he was thus in a position to get another surprise: the orcs attacked the Slyntari. 

His mouth dropped partly open in surprise. He did not have long to dwell on it, however, for at just that moment some unoccupied orcs discovered he was available. They rushed him. 

Aragorn grit his teeth and tightened his grip on his sword. The ranger met the first's attack, promptly batting aside the blade before removing the creature's head. The second, enraged by his fellow's death, crashed into him. "Out!" he managed to yell to his brothers before he was unceremoniously knocked into Elladan's back, shoving the twin forward and off-balance. The elf quickly regained his feet as a fresh wave of orcs charged. 

Aragorn, however, dropped to the ground, the orc landing on top of him, and winced slightly when he caught a boot in his head. The beast's hands closed around his neck--both had lost their swords sometime during the fall, apparently--and Aragorn wrapped his own hands around the other's wrists, desperately trying to keep the orc from applying that final bit of pressure which would snap his neck and end his life. So far, he was succeeding, but he could not breathe and dark spots were beginning to cloud his vision, bringing into question how long his accomplishment would last. 

He was rather surprised, then, when the pressure suddenly released and he was able to pull the hands from his neck. A sword (now that he could see clearly) was pulled from the orc's back by one of the Slyntari, and the ranger gaped at him as the man moved on to another beast. With all the strange things that had been happening recently, Aragorn decided to ignore it as simply one more. Then he wondered if maybe he was not still having one of those dreams induced by that Ungwale drug of Shirk's. 

_No_, he decided._ Even I couldn't imagine this._

He rolled back to his feet, picking up his sword on the way. Another orc came at him, and he once again started the dance he had just managed--not all that long ago--to finish. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Shirk glowered into the trees, still standing in the same place he had been standing when the fight had begun. He was not upset that the Ranger still lived. Indeed, he was rather pleased with that, never mind that he was still fighting--he would be caught eventually. 

The Slyntari leader was not even displeased with the appearance of two elves into the mix. It had been a long time since he had come into contact with his kin, and he was even looking forward to the opportunity to get . . . reacquainted. Even the deaths of his men, more than a dozen, could not be attributed as the cause of his foul mood; if they were competent, they would still be alive. 

No, that was accounted for with the arrival of orcs. Shirk hated orcs, more even than the Dúnadain or men. 

A squawk drew his attention skyward in time to see a black bird that he recognized quite well descending towards him. His glare becoming thunderous, the dark elf waited for the menace bird to land, then took out the message. 

_Return immediately_, it read. _I have a new job for you._

The Slyntari crumpled the paper in his hand. Just when the orcs were finally eliminated and he could turn his attention to more . . . pleasant things, his lord had to go and change plans. 

Furious, he let out a shrill whistle and turned away, quickly and easily disappearing into the growth. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elrohir cut the head off a nearby orc. Then he turned to meet the charge of another, who was actually closer than he had thought. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards into another orc, who--surprised--caught him. The elf quickly wrapped his arm around the orc's neck and flung him at his fellow. He was impaled on his companion's sword. The first orc roared in anger after removing his blade from the body, and charged. 

The elf cut him down quickly and, as no one else presented themselves to him for head-removal, looked around. Only a handful of orcs remained scattered throughout the woods. Those who were brash enough to wander near any of the humans were promptly cut down. He caught sight of Elladan a little ways off and jogged over to him. Halfway there a high whistle split the air. 

The heads of the surviving Slyntari--he counted fourteen--came up. The final orcs were dropped, blood spilling from one wound or another, then the humans turned and left, occasionally stooping to pick up something from the ground. Before long, they were gone. 

The younger twin stood beside his brother and surveyed the carnage around them. Orc bodies lay piled on the ground, their black blood soaking and poisoning the ground. The humans he could see were young, almost innocent-looking in death. Nothing was around to connect them in any way to Sauron or Mordor. For all it looked, they could have come to the pass, run in to a large band of orcs, and been slaughtered, adventurous youths who pushed their luck once too far. He shook his head. He had a feeling that was how it was supposed to look. 

Hoof-beats pounded against the ground, disturbing the silence that had once again descended on the area. The twins turned to face the intruders, tensed for battle, only to glance at each other with relieved smiles a moment later. "Elves," they breathed in unison. 

A company of elves on horseback suddenly broke through the leafy growth from a western direction, and pulled to an abrupt halt. Glorfindel stared at them a moment, blinking slowly, then turned to take in the rest of the area around them. The others also sat upon their mounts, taking in the bodies scattered on the ground, expressions stunned. 

Finally, the regal elf spoke. "Well, at least you've destroyed something other than the house," he remarked. The twins exchanged sheepish smiles. 

Then someone else spoke up. "Where's Estel?" 


	15. End at the Beginning

Hey hey! I'm back. Sorry about the day-late post. I was busy. Gee, where does that sound familiar from . . . ? Lol. No one is free from the busy-bug. We all catch it eventually. Luckily, mine was short and I can now post this without being _too_ late. 

Do you want to know why? I'll tell you anyway. Two words: community service. I spent the night at a friend's house, removing myself from any possibility of posting, and we did community service. Scrubbing one day and score-keeping in the sun the next. I have an incredible sunburn. Hehe. I even got my phone back, so now I don't have to go on a field trip to find a phone to sign on with. *jumps up and down while clapping* 

Okay. I'm done. This chapter seems somewhat incomplete to me, but I don't want you all to wait longer so I won't bother changing it more than I have. Now, review responses.****

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**Nell-Marie:** Thank you, thank you. I'm glad my action sequences meet with approval. They never have exactly been my forte. And this, here, is the last chapter of this story. *chuckles evilly* And it . . . Is an ending to remember. *g* 

**Bill the Pony:** I know you haven't forgotten. Funny how suggesting I think you have gets me reviews, though. . . . *g* It would be a shame if you didn't follow the next story. You would miss Legolas and more, uh, great adventures. Lol. Oh, uh, don't cry too long. *smiles slightly looking vaguely panicked* I'll bring out a longer story that has more and longer chapters. 

**Grumpy:** Yes, isn't it. One syllable can do so much. And they do say the more the merries, right? Mm, well, perhaps not. I don't think Aragorn was all that thrilled with the added enemies. *g* Wonder how that worked out for him? Hmm. . . . *wicked smile* 

**Endril McMerlyn:** Oh, I'm so glad you decided to join in! I love hearing from newbies. *g* More Aragorn angst coming up in the next story. That, I can guarnatee. *thinks about the chapters that have been laborously written over the last three months* Yes, I think I like Aragorn angst, there's so much material to play with. It's not going anywhere anytime soon.****

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**Bailey:** Thanks! *beams happily*****

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****Has anyone seen Once Upon a Time in Mexico? I saw it last night. It's . . . Interesting. Johnny Depp and Antonio Banderas . . . Let's just say that if what it's really like in Mexico were anything like what happened in that movie, I would never get anywhere near Mexico, even with a really, really long pole which I would use to just simply reach on and touch the very very edge of the border. No offense to anyone from Mexico, honestly. That's just what I have decided after seeing that . . . Interesting . . . Movie. I think I like it. Or, rather, I like it, but I'm not sure why or how I like it. Hmm, but that's neither here nor there so. . . .****

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****Now, as this is the last chapter, I have a favor to ask, other than that you review. *g* I am a terrible judge of completeness. I have no idea if there are any issues that I left unresolved that I did not mean to leave unresolved. Thus, I would ask you to include any questions you still have when you are finished reading. Pretend there will be nothing after this and ask whatever is on your mind. 

Also, in relation to the next story: I plan on posting it in about a month. If you all ask really nicely, I might agree to post it in two weeks. But you must ask.Now, read and review. Please? 

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**End at the Beginning**

It was the silence, ironically enough, abrupt and nearly complete, that finally broke through the blankness of unconsciousness and pulled her back into the land of the living, though that was the last place she wanted to be as soon as she woke up. 

Slowly, and with not just a little bit of difficulty, Kalya opened her eyes and looked around. That she was not dead failed to be terribly surprising and could even be viewed as a bit disappointing. That she was not bound was curious and reason enough for further inspection. That she was apparently alone, though, that was worthy of notice. 

She managed to push herself into a sitting position with more difficulty than she cared to admit and got a better look around. She remembered Aragorn showing up just before she lost consciousness, and dreaded what this could mean. But as she listened more closely, she again heard voices, distant, but definitely there. Easing herself to her feet, she began gingerly making her way closer, ignoring the pain, in order to learn the fate of one called Strider. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Twins pairs of eyes went wide. 

The three brothers had been separated during the fight and neither Elladan nor Elrohir had seen Aragorn since the fight began. A crush of orcs had swept him away and further towards where the Slyntari were fighting, which was not a good thing. He had already been exhausted from the previous battle, and the twins had thought to protect him, but instead they had forgotten about him. 

"You don't know where he is?" Elnour demanded when he saw their faces pale, shocked. 

"We've got to find him!" Elrohir exclaimed, panicked, as he turned wide eyes on his brother. Elladan looked just frightened as his twin, their faces mirror images of horror. 

"Find who?" a voice asked, causing the entire contingent to whirl around in shock, then sigh in relief when they saw who it was. The tired and dirty frame of Aragorn could clearly be seen making his way toward them, steps slow and unsteady with his right arm tightly gripping his left just above the elbow. 

"Strider!" Elladan cried in relief. 

The ranger gave them a tolerant, amused look, though his weariness could not be hidden. "No need to find him," he told them. "He's right here." 

Elrohir snickered, relief heightening his humor. 

"Oh hush, brother," Elladan demanded crossly, shoving his younger twin away from him. 

Regaining his balance, he turned to the young human." Are you alright, Estel?" he asked, suddenly serious as he regarded the young human closely. 

"Oh, sure," the ranger replied easily. "Only one scratch this time." He turned to the others cheerfully--or as cheerfully as he could manage while tired. "Oh, hey, Glorfindel." 

Elladan startled them all by bursting out in hysterical laughter. Confused, but mildly amused faces watched as he sank to the ground in his hilarity. Aragorn had a small smile on his face as he watched his brother. Glorfindel looked questioningly at Elrohir, who only shrugged. 

After a few minutes of the whole group watching the rolling elf, Aragorn again spoke. "You know, hyena, I didn't think it was that funny." 

Elrohir laughed softly at the nickname as the elder twin finally seemed to regain some control and wiped at his eyes. "Oh, Estel. You've done it again." 

Aragorn smiled, pleased to see his brothers in such high spirits. Then he released his arm long enough to rub his forehead, accidentally smearing it with blood. "So. Can we go home now?" he asked hopefully. 

Laughter answered him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kalya chuckled quietly from her hiding place among the trees, partially because she did not want to draw their attention and partially because laughing really hurt. 

Content in finding the ranger safe, the former Slyntari quietly started drifting away, not wanting to be seen by the others just yet. It was not that she felt this was the last she would see the ranger, nor that she had any intention of just leaving him be. Simply, she was too sore and tired to deal with the confrontation making her presence known would generate because of her . . . former allegiances. 

She had seen enough to know that Elladan and Elrohir were protective of their human brother, and that they were likely to know exactly what she was. They were unlikely to accept her, or her change of heart, as easily as the ranger. No, best just to disappear and heal for now. 

There would be enough trouble to find at a later date. Sauron was planning something, and Shirk would go hunting again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Anxious to leave the location of so much death and the stench of orcs, preparations to leave were accomplished quickly. Aragorn's arm was cleaned and bandaged, the twins assuring themselves that the wound was not poisoned, and the three brothers were given the horses that had been brought for them. 

A group of elves worked quickly to bury the humans while others worked to gather the dead orcs into a pile to be burned and others cut down trees to accommodate that feat. Three would stay behind once all had departed to see that the foul creatures burned properly and that the fire did not spread. A messenger had been sent to inform Lord Elrond that his sons were well. 

Aragorn was about to climb on his horse when he suddenly remembered Kalya. He froze, half-on the horse, then dropped and darted back towards the clearing, berating himself every terrible step of the way for forgetting about her and leaving her dead-- 

He stopped. Silver eyes stared dumbfounded at a spot on the clearing floor. Distantly, he heard Elladan and Elrohir calling after him, voices worried, but he paid them no heed. The blood was there, but the body that should have been there, as well . . . was gone. 

The ranger looked around, wondering if maybe the Slyntari had taken her with them. But no, they had left their other dead. Was she alive, then? Had his carelessness allowed her to be taken captive? Was she even now being tortured because he had forced her to save his life? 

Aragorn felt sick. 

His search became desperate, hoping for any clue that would point to what had happened and say the terrible thoughts racing through his mind were wrong, more and more sure with each passing second that he would not find one. 

A bird whistle--or what sounded like a bird whistle--caught his attention and he looked up. Standing upon a precipice some distance up the shallower side of the valley, stood Kalya; alive. Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief, then started to gesture for her to come down. Instead, she held out a hand, bidding him stop, and he frowned. 

He watched as she brought her right fist to her left chest, over her heart, and inclined her head, then swept her hand--open and palm up--back across her body; a gesture of thanks, he felt, though it was traditionally a farewell gesture, from warrior to warrior. Then she raised a hand in farewell. 

Before he could even think to do anything, she was gone, as mysteriously and completely as she had arrived. He smiled, then turned to head back to the horses, ready to go. 

He started to go around a tree in his path and hastily stepped back. Elrohir, just before him, also made a hasty retreat, slipping and landing on his backside. The musical laughter of Elladan suddenly rung out, earning a glare from his twin. 

"Shut it, hyena," the younger twin said, and Aragorn started laughing, as well. Quickly, Elrohir climbed to his feet, his glare now including the human. When neither showed any signs of ceasing, he threw his hands into the air and stalked away, irritably mumbling something about annoying brothers who need to learn a lesson and possible revenge. 

Elladan and Aragorn simply followed, knowing Elrohir was merely giving both of them a hard time, their laughter echoing off the trees and soothing Aragorn's soul after so much heartache and death. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The group of elves and one human rode for Rivendell at a leisurely pace. After the frantic race to reach the pass, Glorfindel felt it would be best to give the horses a chance to rest, especially since they did not need to hurry in order to ease the Lord of Rivendell's nerves. Soon they would be stopping for the night before continuing on the next day. 

As it was, Glorfindel rode in front with the sons of Elrond behind him and chatting amiably, though most of the talking was done by Elladan and Elrohir as Aragorn was just about ready to drop off. Sheer stubborn pride was all that was keeping him awake. The rest of the company clustered behind them, alternately talking amongst themselves or listening quietly to the chatter of the three brothers. 

Occasionally, one or the other of them would burst out laughing at some part of the story the three were taking turns telling. Aragorn had gone first, since his was the longest, telling of his trip through the tunnels and subsequent capture, leaving out a fair amount of details: such as the true matter of his tortured dreams and the background of Kalya; he thought he knew why she had disappeared before she could be found by the elves. 

Elladan had gone next--since he was oldest, Elrohir insisted--and related how he had come upon the ranger. "My emotions were so mixed up when I finally found you, Estel, I'm surprised I remembered how to shoot an arrow," he said. 

Elrohir laughed quietly, his amusement having more to do with understanding than any true humor. "What with worry and pride and anger at those heathens. . . ." He trailed off, mind traveling back. Then he shook his head, and turned to glare at the subdued ranger. "Just mind you never do that again," he demanded, looking so much like his father that Elrohir burst out laughing in earnest and Aragorn was hard pressed not to follow. 

His lips twitched, but he managed to remain mostly serious. "I can honestly say, Elladan, that it is not an experience I am in a hurry to repeat. In fact, never sounds quite good to me." 

Elrohir started laughing harder at that, and Elladan finally cracked, the sounds of his mirth mingling seamlessly with his brother's. Aragorn merely grinned, the events still to fresh in his mind to allow true levity, though spending this time with the twins certainly helped dispel the shadows in his heart. 

Finally, Elladan began to calm down again, and as he did a somewhat mischievous expression crossed his face. Aragorn saw it and quieted in anticipation. "So, brother," the elder elf began with a smile, causing said brother to look at him warily, recognizing the other's tone. "Just_ how_ did you manage to find that orc horde?" 

If one was watching closely--and his brothers were--they would have seen Elrohir's eyes widen slightly. He glanced aside almost nervously before turning a bright and overly-confidant smile on his brothers--which did not fool them one bit. "By superior skill, of course," he said. 

Elladan raised an eyebrow. "I really don't think it's that hard to find orcs, brother." 

"Well we didn't have much success before, brother. I think you scared them away." 

A studiously thoughtful expression on his face, Aragorn interrupted, surreptitiously watching Elrohir out of the corner of his eye as he looked straight ahead. "I don't know. It looked to me like_ you _were rather scared when you dropped down on us," the ranger mused. 

"Near frantic, in fact," Elladan agreed, also looking thoughtful. 

"I had to make my flight seem authentic," the younger twin defended, sounded miffed, "so the orcs would follow and not suspect a trap." 

Elladan exchanged a glance of suppressed mirth with Aragorn. Elladan spoke. "I think you're attributing far too advanced cognitive skills than those cretins could ever hope to possess." 

"You're an elf. They were orcs," Aragorn pointed out. "Orc see elf. Orc give chase. No thinking to it." 

Elladan barked out quick laughter. "Exactly. You give them far too much credit, brother. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Start at the beginning." 

He did. With much prodding from Elladan and token prodding from Aragorn, the two remaining sons of Elrond--along with the rest of the company--learned of Elrohir's trip down the mountain and meeting with the orcs. The laughter the story produced took a long time to die down and carried the group to their planned campsite for the night. 

As they swung down from atop their mounts, Elladan said, "I can't believe you stumbled into that orc horde unawares!" Laughter still bubbled beneath the surface of his voice. 

Aragorn chimed in with, "That rock must have liked elves better than you thought; it decided to keep some of your senses." The two burst out laughing again, doing their best to keep it quiet. 

Elrohir glared at the two of them. "Oh, go on and laugh," he insisted testily. "I'm sure you've never done the same." The younger twin turned and stalked away. 

Aragorn watched with an amused, if tired, smile as Elladan chased after his twin, trying to lift the other's spirits while still greatly amused as he pulled his bed roll off the back of his steed. More than ready to go to sleep, he moved around in front of the horse, rubbing the creature's nose affectionately when he bumped his shoulder. "Sleep well," he whispered in elvish before walking away and settling down on the ground. 

He was just about to drop off when he heard the twins settle down beside him. Their voices wishing him a good night pulled him back from the precipice of darkness and he murmured a good night, though he doubted it could be understood. 

Before he could consider it, though, he was fast asleep. His sleep was deep, too exhausted to dream, and nothing troubled his rest. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The company made good time the next day and arrived in Rivendell to be greeted enthusiastically by all who were out and about. Lord Elrond met them at the steps as Aragorn came walking up with Elladan and Elrohir. Glorfindel kept his distance but followed behind them. 

The troupe halted before the old elf, who looked them all over critically, his gaze scanning each in turn with practiced ease. "Well," he announced. "You all seem to be in one piece. Indeed, you all have even managed to walk under your own power. What devilry conspired this?" 

The brothers glanced at each other. Elladan spoke up. "Elrohir's superior skill, Father," he answered seriously. 

Aragorn snickered before Elrohir slapped him on the arm. The ranger hissed and glared at the other, his hand clutching the wounded limb. The younger twin offered a sheepish shrug. 

"What is it?" Elrond demanded, worry replacing his relief. 

"'Tis only a scratch, Father," he objected. 

"I think I shall be the judge of that," he demanded, gesturing that the human roll up his sleeve so he could see. Carefully, he removed the bandage and examined the wound. It seemed to be healing well and lacked the red, tender heat of infection. He nodded, and the sleeve was quickly rolled back down. The lord stepped back. "Welcome home." 

Happily, the group entered the house. Their laughter and banter echoed through the halls and Elrond was relieved by the change. Too long had the halls been empty of such joy, too long had Estel been gone. And, Elrond knew, it was a situation much given to repeating itself. Near was the darkness that would snatch the boy from his care, and it grew nearer to the appointed time every year. 

**Epilogue**

With a smile, Aragorn bid his brothers good night before entering his room and closing the door securely behind him. It was good to be home again and he had immensely enjoyed himself this day. Now that the threat had been revealed and, they hoped, dispelled, he had a little time to himself. He planned to spend that time in Rivendell with his family so they could catch up. 

He tossed his pack, which had been recovered from the Slyntari camp, on the bed and proceeded to get ready for bed, stripping in order to take a quick bath. The warm water felt good, and he completely relaxed for the first time in weeks. 

So much had happened. Sometimes he wondered if the Valar packed so much into his life in so short a time in an effort to give him as much experience as the elves in a fraction of the time, since he would never live even half as long as they did. If that was the case, he wished they would decide he needed less experience or have mercy on him and give him more time. All the trials were hard to keep up with. 

Besides, he mused with a smile, he had a feeling he would manage to age the elves as was not supposed to be possible if things kept up as they had been. For a species that had seen many millennia, he thought that perhaps Lord Elrond had not known what he was getting himself into when he accepted the baby Aragorn into his home. He wondered if he regretted it now, after what he had put him through. 

The smile faded from Aragorn's lips. With a quick shake of his head, he stood and toweled off quickly, then dressed in the old leggings he used to sleep in while in Rivendell. 

The ranger knew he needed to stop, that his family loved him, but sometimes it was just so hard to accept--and his latest experiences did not make it any easier--that the elves, perfect as they were, could love someone so accident prone and troublesome as him. It did not make sense. Then again, Aragorn had learned long ago that the ways of the heart did not always follow reason. 

With that thought, he crossed to his bed and sat on the edge. The young man thought he might as well go ahead and unpack; he planned to be here a while so there was no need to stay packed. He sifted through it, pulling out his clothes to be washed, and found something hard wrapped among them. 

Curious, he pulled it out and discovered it to be the small keepsake Legolas had left for him. He had forgotten that he had kept it in his pack. Now, though, he was surprised to find it whole. Truly it should have broken while in the pack, for he knew the Slyntari had not taken care with any of his possessions, just as they had not taken care with either him or Kalya. 

Delicately, he traced his fingers over the intricate carvings before turning it over to read the inscription. It was the same as when he had left: _Always remember friendship shines even in the deepest dark._ Tears shimmered in his eyes as he read it. 

He thought he would never understand what made Legolas consider him such a good friend, but just this minute, he was glad the blonde-haired elf did. 

He smiled slightly, then turned and placed the fragil-looking object on the small table beside his bed and scooted back, dropping the pack to the floor as he did so. The single lit candle in his room burned brightly on the same table and he leaned forward to blow it out, plunging the room into darkness before shifting to get under the covers. 

The young man's head lay against the pillow and he closed his eyes, drifting easily into sleep. 

~*~ 

_Nothing he saw was familiar, or rather, nothing was familiar in the sense that he had expected to see it where he was, which was slightly confusing because he did not even know where here was. _

__

_He turned again and started when a figure materialized before him. It was black and seemed to float without legs. The air seemed to go cold and fear shot its way through him, chilling his blood and speeding his pulse making his heart beat rapidly in his chest. The very world around him darkened with the other's presence and seemed to shrink away from him. He swallowed hard, attempting to get his emotions back under control. "Who are you?" he asked, and was pleased his voice did not shake too much. _

__

_No answer came except a kind of screaming wailing rush that made his blood run cold and shoot fire through his veins. He stepped back involuntarily as the shadow moved closer black tendrils of its evil seeming to stretch out and try to grab him. Something caught at his boot and he stumbled. As he tried to catch his balance, his gaze caught what he had stumbled over and his eyes widened. _

__

__"Legolas!" he called out in his sleep, too softly to be heard, trashing violently as the dream wore on. 

_It could not be . . . but it was. His friend's body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his eyes staring sightlessly far too wide to be sleeping, horror shining brightly in their sightless depths, chilling his blood even further. Blood pooled around him, soaking the ground that did not seem to be there and yet was. Too much blood. Some of it leaked from the side of the being's mouth, from the corners of his eyes, his nose. A large spot colored his tunic, darkening most of the dark green fabric with its horrid stain. "Legolas!" he called again, his voice shaking as most of his strength disappeared. "No, Legolas, no!" His voice was no more than a whisper as he sank to his knees, his hands moving out to touch the figure lying beside him, only to pull back before they actually touched. "No. Legolas."_

Aragorn jerked awake with a start, his breath gasped in sharply as his consciousness finally broke away from the dream. His lean frame shook terribly from reaction as the ranger swung his legs over the side of the bed and fairly ran to the wash basin. He quickly splashed water over his face and struggled to bring his breathing back under control. 

He looked up and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror: wide eyes staring back at him, terror in their depths. To his own eyes he looked young and terribly vulnerable. He closed his eyes and backed up until he came in contact with the wall, his hand at his mouth to hold in the screams he was sure hid just beneath the surface. 

Slowly, he sank to the floor, the tremors still shaking his body. He was glad the dream had progressed no further, that he had been able to wake up. It would have been too much to face again what he had faced the first time in those tunnels with Kalya, when he could not make himself wake up. It was too terrible to think about. He had thought the nightmare was over. Now, though, he wondered if it would ever be over. 

The man blinked several times, looking around. It was too dark, far too dark in here. Shakily, he turned and crawled across the floor until he reach a table with a candle on it. With hands that trembled uncontrollably, he managed to light the stick. With that light, he managed to walk around the room. Mechanically, he walked around the entire expanse and lit every candle. When that was done, he moved over and sat in the middle of the bed, legs drawn up close and his arms wrapped around them. Wide eyes stared out ahead of them. 

He should sleep, he knew, but he could not. The shadow had reawaken and he dared not submit himself to its grasp. He could not go to his father, nor his brothers, and he could not sleep. Silently, and with dreary determination, he kept his vigil, never allowing sleep to close his eyes. 


End file.
